


Flames Lick My Soul

by FudoTwin17



Series: On the Pyre [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU, Abusive Relationships, Bad Writing, Bullying, Child Abuse, Coming of King Arthur, Drama, Drugs, F/F, F/M, Female Merlin, Hallucinations, High School AU, Home Problems, M/M, Magic, PTSD, Prophetic Visions, Psychological Trauma, Rebirth, Reincarnation, Saving the World, Stolen Memories, The new age, Visions, bad relationships, fem!merlin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-02-21 05:23:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2456357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FudoTwin17/pseuds/FudoTwin17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Uther moves his children to Avalon High, Arthur finds himself thrown into a strange realm wherein he struggles with his immediate brotherhood with complete strangers, the way people around him seem to all have mental breaks, and figuring out what's reality and what's fiction-or at least, he thinks his flashes are fiction. The dragon beneath the school seems to disagree. </p><p>However, that's nothing compared to the odd feelings of protectiveness he feels over a complete stranger, a girl named Merlin, but she's dead inside, and Arthur can't figure out if it's because of some kind of trauma or because she's mentally deficient. </p><p>Something dark is going on, and Arthur is the one who is going to face it this time. </p><p>And he's going to win or die trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Avalon High

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. Hey. First Merlin FF. Thus, any comments would be helpful. I doubt I have either Arthur or Merlin down, but I'm really trying. So I do admit to having a plot, but I don't know how well it's going to come together. Hopefully, it will work well. 
> 
> Anyways: Warnings: This fic will touch on unhappy things, so if you are uncomfortable with anything in the tags, you have been warned. Also, I don't have a beta. Once again, it's a first fic thing. 
> 
> I don't have Elyan in this chappie. I promise I didn't forget him! It's more that he didn't fit well, so I decided to give Gwen and Elyan a better subplot than I had planned. Seriously, everybody has a story. Because of that, this story may well be one of my most complicated and hopefully realistic stories yet. Hopefully.
> 
> Please enjoy, and leave comments. Any feedback or suggestions are welcome. :D Enjoy the fic!

On Arthur's first day at Avalon, a small high school in the the countryside, he could honestly say that he was less than excited. Of course, it'd been that way for a time. He wasn't academically challenged in any sense of the word. In fact, he excelled in not only maths and the sciences but also the arts. School was a bore to him. Thus, entering Avalon, he found himself huffing, preparing for another boring year.

However, from the first moment, it was nothing that he had expected.

A quiet yelp escaped his lips as he hit someone and tumbled to the floor, books and pens falling with him. He blinked the stars out of his vision, ready to snarl something less than kind when he felt his breath leave him.

“Oh! I'm so sorry. I didn't see you.” A pretty (beautiful was more like it), dark-skinned girl exclaimed, scrambling from her resting place on the floor to gather the fallen supplies. Arthur was so stunned, he nearly didn't start to gather anything until she was holding over half of their books in one strong arm. “I'm a bit of a klutz, I suppose. Though I don't normally knock people to the floor, I do have a bad habit of tripping. I am so terribly sorry.”

 It took a moment for Arthur to realize it was his turn to speak. “Oh, no. It's my fault, um . . .”

 Realization lit her lovely chocolates as her eyes widened. “Guinevere. My name is Guinevere, but my friends call me Gwen.”

 “I'm Arthur.” Arthur nodded to her with a winning smile, finishing gathering their fallen items. As they stood, trading items, his eyes met hers once again. “It's nice to meet you, Guinevere.”

 She blinked before giggling behind her hand. She quickly shoved it back down again, though, hooking her thumb into her jean's belt loops. “I'm sorry. You're very funny, you know? When I said my friends call me Gwen, I meant that I hope we can be friends.”

 Arthur blinked. “Oh.”

 A smile lit her face again, light from the painted windows casting an orange glow upon her features so that she looked strangely angelic. “Come, come.” She said, pulling her white backpack on one shoulder. She pushed some dark strands of hair out of her eyes. “I'll introduce you to my friends.”

 “What about homeroom? Shouldn't we be getting our schedules?” Arthur questioned, resisting. Gwen giggled again, grabbing his wrist with a worn (yet still delicate) hand and practically dragging him behind her. 

 “I'm sorry. This probably seems rude of me, but you're very funny.” Any rudeness she may have imparted upon him was forgiven once she sent back a beautiful, amused smile that lit her face. “This school is a private school, and it's set up a bit differently than most schools, but I know that you'll grow to love it once you get used to it. I know I did. Anyway, the first day is more of an orientation than anything.”

 “An orientation?” Repeated Arthur, eyebrows rising.

 “Yes. I doubt the founder really knew what she was doing when she started Avalon.” Gwen released his wrist, and Arthur found a small part of him mourned the loss of contact. He forced the impractical feeling down and walked up next to her. “See, the first day starts with an assembly in the cafeteria. Then they hand out schedules. We get to explore the school, find friends, and talk to teachers. Throughout the day, they'll call us down to the guidance office to make sure schedules are in order.”

 “That's unique.” Arthur said, frowning. His eyes passed over the brick walls empty of lockers before focusing on Gwen again. “Aren't there too many students to do that all in one day?”

 Gwen smiled. “It used to be three days, but the school has been accepting less and less students as of late.”

 “Why?” Arthur questioned. His hands tightened their grip on his backpack straps. He could feel a headache coming on, warning of a flash, and he didn't want to let the flash through. He detested flashes above all else. 

 “No one knows.” Gwen replied, voice dropping almost conspiratorially. “But it's not based on grades, color, or prejudice. It's almost random like someone was drawing papers out of a hat. No one can figure out why anyone got in. It's quite spooky.” She gave a smile. “But enough about that. What about you?”

 “Me?” Arthur asked, blinking.

 “Yes, you. All I know is that you're a new student to Avalon named Arthur.” Gwen gave a bright smile. “Who are you?”

 _My father's slave._ He thought, but he smiled at Gwen anyway. “I'm Arthur Pendragon. I'm from a bit south with my father and sister. She goes here, too, but she was ill today.” He gave her a light smile.

 “What do you want to do?” Gwen asked, eyes bright. She didn't realize that she was treading thin ice.

 “I'm going into the family business.” Arthur replied simply. Golden hair fell into blue eyes, hiding them from the light as his headache slowly began to build.

 “But is that what you want?” Gwen asked, a slight twist to her lip. It looked familiar to Arthur, and he almost smiled before her words clicked in his mind. He'd never actually been asked that. His eyebrows had just furrowed when they entered the cafeteria, and a blur stole away Arthur's new friend. His lips parted in surprise until Gwen's happy giggles and a deeper laugh met his ears.

 “Gwaine, put me down!” Gwen laughed before she was set back down on the tiles by a brunet man with a bright grin. “And I see you have mislaid your razor again.” 

 “Why, of course!” Gwaine grinned at the girl. “All the girls love my rugged good looks.” He winked at Gwen, and she giggled again. Arthur was starting to learn that Gwen was a girl who loved to laugh. 

 “All except two, Gwaine. Don't forget who Guinevere happens to be dating.” Called another man with a slightly darker complexion. He was clean-shaven and had a calm, peaceful way about him. Gwen came to his side, and he slid a hand around her waist respectfully. She smiled at him, and Arthur could just feel the love between them growing. 

  _Oh, well._ Arthur thought glumly. _They look good together._

 Gwaine laughed. “Mate, you look as though you've swallowed a lemon!” The unkempt male threw a strong arm around Arthur's shoulders. Immediately, a scowl grew on his lips.

 “Be nice, Gwaine.” Called another male. Arthur's first thought was that he was a giant, but there was a soft look in his eye, so Arthur assumed that he was nicer than he first appeared.

 “I'm always nice.” Gwaine said with a grin. “Even nicer when I'm knackered.”

 The gentle giant smiled and rolled his eyes, but Arthur wasn't sure whether or not the man hanging off of him was joking. With a practiced hand, he slid the man's arm from it's resting place on his shoulders. Gwaine stumbled for a moment, surprise showing on his face, and Arthur's lip twitched into a smile. It felt oddly good, being around these people (and he didn't even know half of their names!). 

 “I'm Percival.” The giant greeted, shaking Arthur's hand and nearly crushing his fingers. “That's Gwaine, and that's Lancelot.”

 “Lance for short.” The Puerto Rican male holding Gwen mentioned. 

 “And I assume you already know Gwen.” Percival added, a light grin on his face. Arthur smiled, warming up to him immediately. 

 “Arthur.” He introduced himself with ease, reaching out to grasp Percival's hand. However, before he could, the larger male had already gripped his forearm. Arthur wasn't sure what it was, but something inside him made his do the same, and they stood there, staring at each other. 

 Arthur wasn't sure what it was, but something was stirring within him, calling him. Comradeship swirled within him, reminding him of feelings of loyalty and brotherhood, and it felt right in a way that much of his life hadn't. His headache pounded again, but he pushed it back down, and reminded himself that the feeling was wrong.

 After all, he'd only just met Percival. He didn't know him, and their nonexistent bond therefore called not to Arthur of such feelings of loyalty won with lifelong fellowship. It couldn't. It just wasn't possible.

 Arthur scowled, pushing away the falsities and pulled away.

 It was as if the spell was broken. When he pulled away, everyone started to breathe again. Percival's serious expression melted away, and it was as if nothing had happened at all. Arthur took a deep breath and decided to play along: It had never happened. 

 Wow. His head _hurt._

 “Come on.” Gwaine grinned, clapping him on the back. “Percy and I will introduce you to some of the others.”

 Arthur smiled. “Thank you.”

 Percival gave him a more genuine smile as he and Gwaine flanked him. Though he was in the lead, it was only too obvious who was providing the directions. They introduced him to tonnes of people whose names he knew he wouldn't remember (“That's Freya, sweet girl, Mr. G, the biology teacher, there's Cedric, a really creepy guy-you really should avoid him-and there's Ewan! Do us all a favor, and never bring a snake near him. Poor guy's terrified of them!” “Gwaine?” “Yes?” “Do me a favor and let Percy take over the tour.” “Hey! You actually have a personality!” “Shut up.”). 

 Until they reached the corner. Down the hallway to the left (the school was fairly large for a private school), there was a staircase with two boys seated near the bottom. There was a redheaded male that managed to pull off a beard wearing clothing perfectly in order and look neat. The other boy was the opposite. His brown curls were messy and his eyes (blue even from across the distance) were red. His body was in tremors, shaking beneath his mused clothing. One of his hands was clenching and releasing his curls in short bursts, a nervous habit. 

 Arthur made one step toward them before Percival's large hand wrapped around his shoulder. He looked back to see the other boy shake his head softly. As they turned down the right hallway, he spoke quietly. “Who are they?”

 “The red one's Leon.” Percival replied softly. “He hangs out with us a lot. The man's a stickler for a rules and a teacher's aid.”

 “And the other?” Arthur urged them on.

 “Mordred.” Murmured Gwaine softly, all traces of joking gone. His eyes shimmered as if personally afflicted by some heavy burden. “He's one of our mates as well, so you'll see him around.” He chewed his lip as if deciding whether or not to share some life-altering secret. “You can't tell anyone-I don't even know why I'm telling you, really-but Mordred has a prescription meds problem.” Arthur looked up in surprise. “His headaches got really bad last year. He kept saying crazy things like 'the Once and Future King is coming!' and 'Her memories, her soul, we have to save her!' and all that.” Gwaine gave a nervous look to Arthur, and the blond found a small part of him unnerved at the sayings. Based on Gwaine and Percival's tight manor, he would guess they felt the same. “It got so bad, he started taking some from the chain. He got detached quickly, and he acted out less, went silent. We tried to help him, but the idiot didn't want help.” Gwaine whispered, eyes sad.

 “He came to us a couple weeks ago, admitting he had a problem. We've been trying to help, but he won't get real help. You know, professional.” Percival replied softly, taking over when Gwaine got too choked up. “He's a good guy, you know. We want to help him.”

 “Yes. I understand.” Arthur replied softly, mind wandering back home. He understood only too well. “I won't tell anyone.”

 No one mentioned the fact that they knew he wouldn't speak of their confidence, but the strange, silent knowledge was overbearing. Somehow, they trusted him like a brother without having ever shared a brotherhood. 

 “Well,” Gwaine started loudly, interrupting the serious aura, “we'd better run, or we'll not make Mr. A's speech.”

 “Right.” Arthur said with a nod. This time when he took the lead, he knew exactly where he was going.

 Mr. Ambrosia, the principle, was a dark-haired man with a pinched face and soft, worn eyes. He looked as though he'd seen the world, and the world had seen him. Though most students cringed at meeting him (no one knew why, but there was something about him that caused many to automatically back up), Arthur had no such reaction. After all, the man was his uncle. Uncle Agravaine, in fact.

 “That's Mr. A.” Percival stated as they took seats at the round table in the middle of the cafeteria next to Lance and Gwen. 

 “Yeah, I know.” Arthur stated, eyes searching the room. He didn't quite know who he was searching for, but that was normal. He was always searching for someone.

 But they didn't exist. 

 “How could you know?” Gwen asked, her eyebrows furrowing. Arthur once again found himself thinking her beautiful, but he reminded himself that she wasn't single. She leaned into her boyfriend's arms. 

 “He's my uncle.” Arthur replied. 

 All of their mouths gaped at Arthur's statement. Gwaine finally laughed. “Why, you're practically royalty!”

 Arthur rolled his eyes, but he found himself smiling. Royalty. Some tiny thing in the back of his mind kept whispering that he was a royal pr-

 The cafeteria doors shut, Leon and Mordred just making it through. As they made their way through the crowded tables (though not as crowded as a public school), Uncle Agravaine gathered everyone's attention, smoothing down his suit. 

 “Everyone, everyone, settle down!” Immediately, a hush went through the crowd. Mr. A caught Arthur's eye, and smiled. “Welcome, everyone, to Avalon High School. We are all very happy to see you back another year or, if you're new, joining us. I am Mr. Ambrosia-”

 “Like the Greek legends?” Someone shouted. Arthur couldn't tell who, but he felt like he knew the voice. 

 His head hurt.

 “Yes, like the legends. You may call me Mr. A for short.” Agravaine gave a smile, a more real one, and Arthur relaxed a bit more. Sometimes when his uncle gave him certain looks, unfamiliar feelings of betrayal and anger hit him for no reason. It was always better when he relaxed into a more authentic version of himself. “Now, we do have some rules here at Avalon High, and we expect you all to respect and obey them. Firstly, no fighting will be tolerated, nor will any unauthorized weapons on the premises be allowed. If circumstances make it so that you must defend yourself, we understand and respect that, but that doesn't mean that you can beat another person up until they're black and blue because they started it.”

 Gwaine rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but if they really deserve it, sometimes they turn a blind eye.”

 Arthur blinked in surprise. “Really?”

 Gwaine nodded. There was a fire in his eyes that made Arthur realize that something must have happened. He was about to go back to paying attention when he caught Percival's expression. It was so angry that Arthur wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it. It didn't take him long to realize that everyone at the table, Mordred and Leon included, had the same look to their eyes. 

 _Something must have happened last year_. Arthur thought, pushing back the troubling thoughts. His eyes went back to Mr. A. 

 “Now, fighting aside, we are aware that there is drug use among the students. While the school will support those with need of such medicines as prescribed by a licensed medical doctor, we do not allow drug use for recreational purposes. New measures have been taken against drug use here at Avalon that will be gone over in class.” Mr. A gave a short pause before turning his hawk-like eyes toward students in the back. Arthur didn't dare look, but he could practically feel the tremors going through Mordred a few seats away. He lowered his eyes, not looking at either his uncle or acquaintance. “Once again, bullying in any shape or form, including over the web, will not be tolerated. So, don't do it.”

 No one spoke, and Arthur found himself wondering if bullying happened much in this new school. Most schools he went to had a sad amount, though he had gone to one American school for all of a month that had one of the best programs he'd seen for peace at school. 

 He hated to admit it, but up until that point, he'd been a bit of a bully. Not nearly as severe as most, but he'd done it all the same, and he felt a certain amount of guilt when he thought about it more recently.

 “Vandalism.” Mr. A interrupted his thoughts. His face was hard, and Arthur felt himself shift in discomfort. “Do you see this lovely school? It's an actual periodic castle.” A breath went through Arthur as his eyes widened. “Though we do not know the time period it was built, this is a very old piece. All the glass-stained windows, the stone walls, the grounds-everything. And remember, you as students are only privy to the bottom three floors above ground level. Unless with a teacher, do not go above nor below that. Please respect the school. We don't want it to join the ruins.”

There were a few weak chuckles at the poorly done joke, and Arthur hid a smile. 

  Agravaine smiled at the students, and all discomfort in the student body seemed to melt. “Well, those are our big topics. Thank you all so much for choosing Avalon High. We look forward to seeing you all in class tomorrow. When your name is called, please report to the Guidance Office. They will give you your schedule and work with you on any changes. In the meantime, you are welcome to tour the school and its grounds. You are welcome in any open door, but if they are closed, please either knock or find somewhere else. That will be all.” No one moved. “You're free! Go!”

 A few people blinked, and Mr. A walked off, exiting the cafeteria. Arthur found himself staring at the stone pillars and the open room of the cafeteria. It wasn't hard to imagine knights and royals living in it, though it hurt his head. Most things hurt his head.

 It was still incredible to him that they were in an actual castle. Who in their right mind would use a castle for a high school? Were they asking for it to burn to the ground?

 “Coming, grumpy?” Gwaine asked, standing. “We're going to show you some of the classrooms.”

 “Uh, okay.” Arthur said intelligently. 

 They toured the castle, but Arthur hardly paid attention. He was lost in thought. He wanted nothing more than to explore the castle from top to bottom. Something about it just called to him, and he felt a ringing disappointment at the idea of not being able to access above the bottom three floors. He almost felt as if it were wrong, being so confined. He didn't voice it, but he caught Leon's face when they hit the stairs to the fourth floor. He wished to rise as well.

 Arthur shook his head, going into the first open classroom he saw. 

 The rest of the seniors (and Mordred who turned out to be a sophomore-imagine that) trailed after him, curious and slightly amused looks on their faces. 

 “Arthur.” Gwen started, pearly teeth showing. “You realize this is biology, right? We don't have this class for sure.”

“Speak for yourself.” Mordred spoke up softly. “I have bio this year.”

Arthur shook his head. Though they were amused, he could hear nervousness in their voices. He wished he could have turned back, but something had called him to this room, and Arthur Pendragon was no coward.

“Oh! Hello.” An elderly man said in surprise. The man, white-haired and wearing a lab coat, looked exactly what Arthur expected a mad scientist might look at. He pushed glasses back up on his crooked nose. “I didn't see you. I'm guessing you are new here?”

“Ah, yes, Mr. . . .” Arthur trailed off, not sure what to say.

“Call me Gaius.” Gaius stated, smiling an old man's grin. Something went through his face for a moment that Arthur didn't know what was before he softened. “Ah, Arthur, are you looking for someone?”

It wasn't until later that he would realize that he hadn't ever told the old man his name.

A chill went down Arthur's back because this man couldn't know he was looking for someone that didn't exist. He was always searching and not finding. He felt as though there should be someone standing over his shoulder, joking when they should be serious and serious when Arthur wanted nothing more than a joke to ease the tension-

Arthur gritted his teeth. _No._ He would not have a flash.

He forced himself to smile. “No, I was just looking around-”

A boy trotted into the room with a note. He stopped in front of Arthur. “Are you Arthur Pendragon?”

“Um, yes.” Arthur replied on automatic.

“Good. You are wanted in the Guidance Office. My name is George. I'm the PA in the attendance office. I'll show you the way.” The boy stated, voice level and face devoid of emotion. Arthur blinked.

“Alright, then. Thank you. I'll see you all later, I suppose.” Arthur nodded at his new friends and Gaius before following George out of the room. The silence was uncomfortable, and Arthur found himself trying to break it when they reached the stairs to the second level. “How long have you gone to school here, George?”

“All my life.” George replied, continuing. Arthur expected him to expand, but he did not.

 _I may have just met the most boring person in Avalon._ Arthur thought rudely, but he didn't voice the opinion. “Any tips?”

“Follow the rules.” Stated George. When they reached the Guidance Office, George turned to him, and something strange happened. George's eyes seemed to glaze over, and he bowed beside the door.

Arthur's breathing became shallow. A burning lit behind his eyes, and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold the flash back long enough. He swallowed painfully, feeling his lips form words before he could examine them too closely. “Thank you, George.”

George bounded up, eyes focusing and a frown lighting his lips. He went to speak before turning away to fetch more people for the councilor.

 _Maybe he's not so boring after all._ Arthur thought before entering the office.

Inside was more or less a little room with a door most likely leading to the councilor's room. Around the room were a number of chairs, and one person seated in the corner.

Immediately, she intrigued him. The girl had black, choppy hair as if someone had taken a pair of clippers to them. It was short, about Arthur's length. She wore an overly large shirt (what looked to be a man's shirt) and a pair of holey jeans. Her boots were strapped on and looked old. It was like she hadn't bought new shoes in years. She was skinny, too. So much so, in fact, that her curves were slight, and she looked almost breakable. Her skin was pale, about as pale as his, though it looked more so due to her dark locks. All of that paled in comparison to her eyes, though.

Crystal blue eyes seemed to jump at Arthur from the first moment he set foot in the room. They were so blue that Arthur didn't know if he could even consider his eyes blue anymore. His very soul seemed to sing at seeing them, but at the same time, his heart was breaking. Those eyes were dead, empty. They gazed at nothing in front of her. It was as if any life, joy, or emotion at all was just gone. They weren't sad or angry or happy or any emotion Arthur could identify. They were just empty.

_Soulless._

The door to the councilor's room opened, and an older woman walked out. She had lightening brown hair and deep eyes. Her smile was as light as the makeup on her face. Wrapped in a green shawl, a white shirt, and a pair of easy jeans, she had a kindness about her that made Arthur relax automatically. She smiled at him before turning to the poorly dressed girl. “Merlin Manete! Oh, love, what have you done to your hair?” She sighed a little sadly before speaking again to the unresponsive girl. “Come right in here, and I'll get you a schedule.”

Merlin, the messy girl, stood and walked forward. She entered the room, and the older woman sighed softly. The door shut.

Arthur didn't know how long it was, but he waited for what felt like ages. He stared at the door, eyes never leaving it. He couldn't get passed this strange girl who acted like a ghost. His fingers tingled at the foreign feeling of wanting to touch her locks and bring some kind of emotion back to her eyes.

His heart and head pounded as one, and he knew he couldn't hold off the flash much longer, but he held on, desperate to keep himself from it as long as possible. If one could say anything about Arthur Pendragon, it was that he was stubborn.

That didn't stop his hands from shaking, though.

When at long last Merlin walked back out, eyes unfocused, Arthur stood. He walked toward the open door and smiling councilor, but he found himself acting on impulse. His hand reached out to grip the thin girl's arm, and she stopped. “Wait for me after?”

She didn't reply, nor did she look at him.

Arthur sighed a little sadly and entered the room, shutting the door softly behind him. He glanced around, taking in the bookshelves, potted plants (ones he'd never seen before), and the fine oak desk in the stone room. It was strange, but it somehow fit.

The councilor smiled at him, standing from her seat behind the desk. “Hello. I'm Alice.”

A little relief went through Arthur as he reached for her hand. “Arthur.” They shook hands, and Arthur faintly noticed the gold band around her ring finger.

“Nice to meet you, love.” She smiled happily, a strange glint in her eyes. Arthur didn't quite know what it was, but it was there all the same when she looked at him. “Now, for first hour, I have you down for AP English Twelve. Is that correct?”

“Yes.” Arthur replied, sitting up in his seat. He didn't know why, but he had a certain liking for Alice. Yet at the same time, he feared he felt a little bit of that odd distrust for her as he had for his uncle.

“Good, good.” She replied, giving a lovely smile. “Now, for second hour, you have AP Psychology, and Business Management for third. Right?”

“Right.” Arthur replied.

A more brilliant smile lit her face before she turned back to the computer screen. She scrolled down. “Okay, you have AP Physiology fourth hour and then lunch.”

“Good.” Arthur said with a nod, shifting a bit impatiently. He wished to get his schedule and go. He doubted Merlin would still be waiting for him in the waiting room, and he wished he could run out to catch her even if it was unlikely with the many different paths within the school.

Alice's eyebrows furrowed, and she clucked her tongue. Arthur found himself on edge almost immediately. After a moment, she looked at him. “It appears you have taken all of our math courses already. Smart lad, aren't you?”

“All of them?” Arthur asked with risen eyebrows.

“All of them.” She confirmed. “How about I sign you up for a fun elective then, eh? How does Arthurian Studies sound? We're the only high school around that teaches it.”

Arthur frowned, realizing his father would be less than happy. Then again, if there were no math courses he could take . . . .

“You know, Merlin is in that class.” Alice said almost as if thinking aloud. “And I'm sure she could use someone in that class.”

“I'll do it.” Arthur replied immediately. He didn't feel like he had a choice once Merlin had been mentioned. It was as if he had to be in that class. He needed her near him. He didn't even consider the fact that Alice had shared personal information with him that may have gotten her in serious legal troubles.

All that mattered was Merlin.

“Last but not least, we have Latin.” Alice smiled at him.

 “Great.” He said unenthusiastically. He was practically being handed his schedule before he knew it (faintly, he noticed that Alice hadn't changed a thing on his schedule-it was as if she was already prepared for where he was going to be placed). He was then out the door.

 And Merlin was standing in the exact same place he'd left her at. Though his head ached, and a flash was coming, Arthur couldn't help the immediate joy that ripped through him at seeing her there. 

 “Merlin?” His voice was soft, wary, and he knew it shouldn't be. Somehow, he just knew.

 She didn't reply, but she turned slightly toward him as if drawn to do so. Softly, he reached out a hand, wondering if she was responding to command. “Walk with me?”

 Immediately, she followed him. He didn't know quite what to do or say, but he wished he could think of something. They walked down tiled floors, brick corridors in silence, and Arthur watched as light from both beautifully painted windows and ordinary yet ornate windows threw light across her face and hair in ways that made her just as beautiful as Gwen and more so. 

 Arthur didn't know when, but Merlin had captured him.

 “Stop.” He said softly, and Merlin immediately did so. Sadness gripped his heart, and he could just imagine her with life, arguing and laughing. But she just angled herself toward him and stared passed him somewhere. 

 The painted window, a portrait of a dark-haired witch creating sunlight, cast a red glow over her face, and Arthur found himself stepping forward and touching her face lightly. Hollow eyes didn't even blink. “There's just something about you, Merlin.” He whispered. 

 The light over her face became orange-tinged as the sunlight lighting her face through the window changed just a bit. 

 “Why are you like this?” His voice held a note of sorrow that even he couldn't understand. She didn't answer. “Who did this to you?”

 She didn't answer.

 Unhappily, he stepped back, and they walked to the cafeteria together.

 Arthur's head hurt so badly that he told Merlin to go where she would be safe and disappeared himself into the nearest bathroom. He stumbled forward before turning and locking the door behind him. He slid down the polished wood, blue eyes hooded beneath his fine blond hairs. He was shaking, the headache reaching a point of no return that Arthur knew he couldn't escape. White specks dotted his vision, and he knew he couldn't escape it. 

 Arthur had learned early on that flashes always started painfully-more painfully if you put them off-but got better as they went on. However, he hated it when they took over his life, and he learned to fight them off days at a time. 

 It didn't feel like enough. 

 His vision cleared, and he was in a ring of red and yellow, the sun glinting in his eyes as the crowd roared their approval. A grin of gratitude lit his lips as he rose his sword in victory. His eyes swept the crowd, landing on lords and the king but remaining on a servant-his servant. 

  He looked so happy and full of life that Arthur couldn't help the way his eyes lightened just a bit.

 White flashed in his eye.

 He would have to rehire the-

 Arthur felt dizzy as he slumped into the door, breathing hard as his headache left him, and the flash ended. He took a moment to regain his breath before blinking the blurriness out of his eyes. He scanned the room he'd stolen to himself. 

 Relief flooded through him as he realized it was not what he had expected with the school being an actual castle. There was a sink, he noted, that he could find no pipes to. There were many stalls-all oddly clean-and each had a toilet unconnected to any flooring, walls, or pipes. Curiosity hit him, and he stumbled to the sink, pushing his hand beneath the tap.

Water flowed automatically. Such technology Arthur had never heard of. His eyebrows furrowed as he could find no mechanism to spray water nor anything that could possibly have the water necessitated for washing one's hands.

It was like magic.

Shaking his head, he splashed his face with the cool, refreshing water and sighed in relief. He gave himself a look in the mirror and grimaced at the tired-looking man on the other end. His hair mused, eyes shot, and face red, one would think Arthur had a spell. The boy refreshed himself the best he could (and flushed a toilet just to see if it would-it did) before slipping out. He noted how everyone was seemingly flooding out the hallways and into the bright new world. Arthur merely blinked before realizing that he must have been gone longer than usual with his most recent flash.

And he'd left his bag in the cafeteria. Giving a small sigh, Arthur turned, ready to fight the crowd and get into the area when a boy appeared before him. He was dark-haired and had fire in his eyes. His clothing was torn and obviously cheap, but Arthur found himself instead focusing on its similarity to Merlin's. It looked to be the same size and-

“This yours?” Asked the boy, raising Arthur's bag up for him to see.

Arthur blinked before nodding. “Yes. Thank you for-”

“Okay, pretty boy, this is how it's gonna go. I speak. You listen. Okay?” The boy snarled, and indignity automatically made Arthur straighten.

“Excuse me?” He snarled. Who did this boy think he was?

 “I don't like you. I've seen your type before, and I'm sure I'll see you again. Your type is the kind apt to get me killed, and I don't mind that.” The boy stated, a snarl on his lips. His angry words made Arthur's flame die a little, but his indignity did not rest. “But I won't let you get my best mate killed.”

 Arthur blinked, and then he managed to look just over the shorter boy's shoulder. He just managed to catch sight of a group of four through the flow of people leaving. One was an awkward boy who seemed as though he was just getting used to his body. His hair was short and his eyes shifty, but he had one hand on a small figure's shoulder in the center. Beside him stood another boy with a puppy's face, hazel eyes, and neat clothing that was dressed fairly well even if his clothes were worn. On his side was a girl with short, dark hair, wearing a comfortable looking brown and red top with brown leggings. Her eyes, however, were deep and dark, and they bored into him as if he were a monster and she was the knight ready to slay him (or maybe just the opposite). And they were all congregated around one small figure.

 Merlin.

“Oi!” Exclaimed the boy in front of him, pushing him slightly. Anger built back up as Arthur looked down at the boy. “Listen to me when I talk!”

 “Who are you to speak to me like that?” Snapped Arthur, righteousness causing him to snarl.

 “I'm the guy you don't want to make mad.” Will snapped, eyes storming. “And I don't want to see you anywhere near Merlin again.” The brunet threw Arthur's bag at him, and Arthur barely caught it, hitting the brick behind him harshly as he did, before Will marched into the fray and the small group of outcasts followed him, guiding Merlin along as though blind and dumb. He stared after them long after the halls were only occupied by a last few people trickling out into the sunshine. 

 When he finally made it out to the parking lot for a ride home, his uncle smiled at him. Sitting down in the passenger seat, he quickly snapped on his belt, not looking at his uncle as he struggled with the contraption. 

 From the corner of his eye, it looked as though Agravaine was holding a knife.

 Arthur tensed, but he knew it was for naught when his uncle sat up straight, satisfied. Mr. A smiled at Arthur. “So? What do you think?”

 “About Avalon?” Asked Arthur, blue eyes blurred with images.

 “Yes.” Agravaine replied, starting up the car.

  “I think this is going to be an interesting year.” Arthur stated.

 His uncle nearly jerked the car back in surprise.

Arthur was never interested. He was never excited. He was just . . . Arthur.

An interesting year, indeed.

 

 


	2. Hiding Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur takes care of Morgana. Morgana wants to take care of Arthur. Gwaine wants to take care of Merlin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my gosh. Someone actually likes this! :D
> 
> Okay, special thanks to Siaa, who commented, and everyone who left a kudos. Seriously, I really appreciate it. I really hope you enjoy this chapter as I'm starting to get into plot things. They're fun. Of course, I haven't given too much away yet about anyone's subplots, but I'll get there next chapter. I sincerely hope you enjoy this. 
> 
> Of course, any comments, ideas, thoughts, and suggestions are welcomed. Please enjoy the chapter.

After Agravaine dropped Arthur off at his new home, Arthur watched him drive back down the path, out the gates, and out of his sight. The blond high school boy gave a soft sigh, turning his gaze forward.

After some big company deal during the last few months or so, Uther had moved his small family to a manor at Newport, South Wales. The manor itself was large and spacious, a dream, really-except for the fact that it didn't feel like a home. The land around it was full of greenery, flowers, and trees only cut through by a single cobblestone path leading to the manor. There was a faint smell of apple and gooseberries on the gentle breeze, and the sight was more than a lovely one. The manor was large being several stories high and painted a soft cream with dark roofing. But past that inviting exterior, Arthur knew that the inside held polished wood flooring and tastefully painted rooms with a well-stocked kitchen, beautiful porcelain restrooms (four, in fact), and lots of space.

However, Arthur loathed the thought of this new place. The interior held little for him. It was cold and empty, still unfinished with packing as their family was. There was no personalization and little to no love as their last home had. It was large and had much potential, but that was all it had-potential. Not even the beautiful view and lack of noise from the loud world outside could make it homey. Those gates only solidified how Arthur felt about it.

His father had moved him and his sister into a cage, and what a cage it was.

With a sigh, Arthur pulled out his key from his back pocket. After opening the front door and disengaging the alarm from the security system his father had insisted on installing, Arthur slammed the door, sagging at his sudden tiredness.

Wearily, he dragged himself through the front room, past another room (unpacked as of yet), up two flights of stairs, and down the hall. Just before passing the fourth room down, he paused to push open the door.

It being Morgana's chosen room (his father had tried to assign them rooms, but she had refused the one he'd wanted her to have and chosen the one next to Arthur's instead), it was the most lived-in looking room in the entire manor. She had flung paint across the once indigo walls so that it was mostly splattered with red and black. Her bed was made (just as Arthur had done the day before) with soft, purple linens and white and purple pillows. The bed had a dark purple canopy, ripped and splattered with black paint from many of Morgana's moods (their father tried to replace it, but she set the new canopy on fire). Next to it was a scratched up door messy with paint that led to their adjoining bathroom. The white artist's desk on the other side of the bed was messy with Morgana's drawings, supplies, paintings, and other utilities. She had a fair closet to the side and a large dresser. Her fine wood floor, dresser, and closet were all messy-clothes and old things thrown about. Arthur's eye caught the slightly bent over form of Morgana's doll on the dresser.

It was an old thing-something from when she was child. It was the only toy Morgana had ever held onto, and that alone made Arthur smile. Anything that could give his sister some form of peace of mind was more than a good thing in his book. Well, almost anything.

With an unhappy frown, Arthur pulled the door closed again and hoisted his backpack up higher. He walked to his bedroom slowly.

Morgana's room looked just the same as the day before, meaning that the girl had most likely not come home from the clubs. Arthur scowled at the thought, worry making his blood boil more than anything else.

He felt angry about the clubs, the drugs, the desperation in Morgana's eyes when she had whispered to him with those big doe eyes that she needed them. He felt angry about her nightmares waking her during the night, and he was angry he was the only one who could calm her. He was angry he couldn't do anything.

He was just angry.

Arthur pushed open his room, devising a plan to stop her when he stopped in his tracks. He dropped his bag by the door, letting his eyes fall upon his sister. She was sprawled out comfortably on his bed with her long, dark locks spread out around her, part of it straightened and part of it curled from some elaborate do that Arthur knew must have come out because of rough hands and harsh treatment. Her eyes, closed, looked like those of a raccoon's due to rubbed makeup. The rest of her face was too pale, though her lips were chapped and swollen. Her body was wracked with shivers. All she wore was a skimpy, red dress that showed off every curve and too much skin. Her feet were bare, but Arthur could tell by the slight swelling in her left ankle that she had been wearing her red buckled pumps. She trembled more, hands closing in fists and drawing her brother's gaze to the harsh bruises on her arms and wrists in the form of hands.

He scowled.

This was what truly made him angry.

Morgana moaned in her sleep, and Arthur forced down his betraying emotions. He stepped forward, shaking his sister to wakefulness as gently as possible. “Come on, Ana. Wake up. For me? It's okay. Just wake up.”

Clear, gray-green eyes opened wide, staring at him before she attacked him with a forceful hug that had caught him off guard the very first time. Arthur swallowed as she murmured words into his ear that he knew were nonsense.

Based on the clearly dilated eyes, she was high still.

“Arthur-so bad. Thought you were gonna die, and my fault. So scared. Bad Morgana, bad Morgana.” She whispered, her cold sweat oddly sweet. She clung tighter as Arthur situated himself on the bed.

“No, no. You're not bad. Morgana is good. Good girl.” He managed to say into her ear, breathing on her three earrings. “Good Morgana.”

“No, no.” Morgana rebelled, squeezing him for all her worth. “Dead. Arthur dead. Baby dead. My fault-all my fault. Bad. Evil-”

“I'm alive. Arthur's alive, okay?” Arthur whispered as she whimpered in his arms. If she tightened her grip any further, though, Arthur would have to admit that he might end up just as she'd said. “Right here. I'm right here. You're good. Good Morgana. No one is dead. Everyone lives. I'm okay, okay, Ana? We're both right here.”

She whimpered again, but her hold lessened, and after many tears and murmurs, she went limp and Arthur laid her back down on the covers. She held on tightly to his sleeve, but he gently detached it and set it down on his royal blue covers.

Normally, he'd lay with her a while, but today he had a mission.

Morgana was, if nothing, a junkie. Parties used to be her thing, but long ago, it had turned into an addiction of a more physical, harmful kind. Every time she returned from a party, she had drugs, and she knew where to hide them.

Or at least she had. Arthur had learned where to look, and over time, he had managed to weed out her stash-angry she was, too (and she had very good aim). However, Arthur hadn't found anything in nearly two months despite seeing her clearly high.

It gave him a thought.

He glanced around his room, clean and efficient. It had white walls, a bed, a pale door to the bathroom, a clear desk, a dresser, and a closet. The room was large and spacious, devoid of anything personal. It was more a storage unit than an actual bedroom, but Arthur had lost the need to actually express himself through his room long ago.

His eyes went to the closet immediately, knowing that dark expanses were an odd favorite of his sister's. He dug through, moving aside his clothing, so he could see the back and-

Oh. There it was. It was a small, mahogany box with innate descriptions and gold hinges. Opening it, Arthur gave a small sigh. Inside, just as he'd known there would be, were two syringes, a few pill bottles, packets of powders, and a couple vials of honey liquid. Arthur snapped the case shut unhappily.

It made only too much sense. The best place to hide them was the one place that Arthur had no reason to look-his own room. He shook his head, setting it down on the desk. He glanced at his sister once more, guilt wracking up his his anger.

He ignored the overwhelming feeling and walked over to her, feeling for a pulse. Counting the beats, Arthur allowed himself to relax a bit. Her heartbeat was the way it usually was when she used heroin-straight, not cut with caffeine or coke. He assumed that the puncture mark was hiding underneath one of her harsh bruises and let out a sigh, running one hand through his hair. He was so tired.

He turned and riffled through the box, grabbing everything inside. He didn't leave anything except the red velvet, not even the syringes. He walked them downstairs to the kitchen automatically.

His body going through the motions without a thought to the contrary, Arthur grabbed the bags of powder. He turned them inside out, washing off the bag and making sure to send all of the clumping mess down the disposal. He turned it on for a moment to make sure that none was left before tossing the bags.

His eyes wandered back up to the stairs for a sad moment before his blue eyes fell back upon the drugs. With a scowl, he picked up the vials. Without a thought, he emptied them out of the window. He didn't dwell on the grass he was sure he was going to kill nor what it would have done to his sister in its stead. He smashed the vials as well.

After, Arthur found himself staring at the two syringes. A part of him felt ready to throw them in the trash, but an angrier side of him reared its head just in time.

Why did Morgana have to do it to herself? All the heroin, the coke, the PCP-Why? Was clean living not worth the effort? Did she even think to her own self? What about him? What would Arthur ever do if she were to-were to-

Glass shards shattered on the counter, sunlight glinting off of them through the window. A chill went through Arthur as he realized what he'd done in his fury without so much as a thought, but he bit back his thoughts when he felt his heart swell righteously. Did he break the needles rather violently without thinking? Yes. But they were _needles_. And it felt good to take such a thing from his self-destructive, older sister. Who cared if he got a bit violent when he was angry?

He didn't hurt anyone.

Trembling with rage and a bit of secret shame, Arthur's hands found the broom and dustpan between the sink and refrigerator. Slowly, he began cleaning. Eyes jumping up, he brushed the broken shards from the counter top with his hands and flinched at the tearing in his hand.

Blood dripped on the glass, causing it to shine red, and didn't that make Arthur's mind go to dark places.

He threw it away, hissing and spitting in his anger and pain. Once everything was as good as new, except for his aching hand, he trudged toward the bathroom for the first-aid kit he knew was in the back of the cupboard on the third shelf. Entering, he paid no mind to any medical supplies. With a rough hand, he jerked out a shard, watching as it ripped his skin more and caused dark liquid to ooze out.

He blinked in surprise as white clouded his vision.

“No.” He whispered, bloody hand gripping the pristine sink, leaving a red print on the lovely white. “I'm done. I had one today. No.”

Whiteness assaulted him again, taking him away.

His heart was beating so quickly that Arthur feared that it would rip out of his chest. His eyes could easily discern yellows, browns, and blues in his peripheral, but he himself could look at nothing other than red. A red tunic covered a slender figure, and horror hit him as he realized that its owner was falling to the floor.

He vaulted forward, but his eyes seemed to be able to do nothing but see the fallen boy. His eyes wandered down a gray arm to see pale fingers. They were long and bony, delicate in a way that was almost feminine. They lay unresponsive, and that alone made the fluttery feeling in his stomach tighten.

The white in his vision seemed to hit Arthur hard but not before he watched the empty chalice of silver roll away from that long, delicate hand.

With a sharp gasp, Arthur dropped harshly down onto his bum. His breath fell away, and he rose his hands to his face, shaken. He was barely supposed to have two flashes within a week, yet the moment he goes to Avalon, he has two. As well as that, it seemed as though everything was screaming at him. The bonds he shared with strangers that he trusted more than his own blood, the feeling of betrayal that ran deep inside his mind whenever Morgana or Uncle Agravaine did something just wrong, and even the clothes he wore or the things that went through his mind with no reason seemed to hold some special purpose. And there was still that empty spot behind him-no, at his side. Someone was supposed to be at his side.

Arthur blinked, opening his eyes to red. His hand was bloody and smeared and dripped as though it were water from a leaky pipe. Standing, Arthur turned his eyes to the mirror, not horrified but definitely startled when he saw the crimson smeared across the bridge of his nose, eyes, and across his face. There was even a bit in his hair!

With a pale scowl, Arthur pulled the glass he could find from his hand, rough and angry. He stitched and wrapped it poorly, but it was good enough, and he didn't want to go to a hospital for his hand. After, the boy cleaned his face and the side of the sink, wincing at the rough treatment of his hand even as he scrubbed away the blood.

With a final sigh, he rubbed his eyes. Pulling out a small canister, he poured a Tylenol into his hand. With a relieved sigh, he went to take it, but the idea of popping the pill made him nauseous. He was taking away Morgana's drugs, yet he was taking some of his own?

_It's not the same._ Whispered a small, girly voice in the back of his mind.

Yet it was.

Medicine was used to treat pain. He was treating the pain in his head and hand, but there were so many times when Arthur wondered if he could use drugs to block out his flashes. He was so tempted to use the drugs for that kind of pain that it was a wonder he could stand to take away his sister's cure. After all, wasn't she just treating the pain in her soul?

_It's not the same_. Repeated the voice, and Arthur felt his frustration grow. _You didn't do it._

Right. He didn't. Arthur wanted to get angry. He wanted to throw the first aid case across the room and stomp on it until it was no more before screaming his throat raw and just sleep. He wanted to be free, too. Some fantasies had to be let go.

Arthur dropped the Tylenol in the sink and washed it down.

With a sad gait and weary eyes, Arthur put away the first aid kit and exited the bathroom, making his way back up to his room where his sister still slept. When he entered, he wasn't surprised to see Morgana still sleeping on his bed, murmuring in her drugged haze. He sat at the desk and leaned back. Having nothing else to do, he closed his eyes and willed himself to drift off.

Arthur must have dreamed, but when he opened his eyes to Morgana's stretching and moaning, he couldn't remember for the life of him. With a wince at his sleeping position and sleeping legs, he sat up. With a steady hand, he pulled the fine mahogany box into his hands and sat forward, waiting.

This time, when Morgana opened her eyes, they were clear of drugs, though confused. After a moment, she seemed to gain awareness and sat up, wincing at the pain in such a simple motion. Then, she saw Arthur.

It wasn't hard to track her emotions by the second. At first, she was confused. Guilt flashed in her eyes next for the way that she knew Arthur hated them. Then surprise hit her as she realized that he was holding the box.

Then righteous fury hit.

“Where did you get that?” Morgana snapped, sitting forward despite the many pains in her body. Her lips were in a messy, swollen sneer and her eyebrows were pulled down into an angry look so that her beauty was overcome by a harsh ugliness. It hurt him to see his beautiful, wild sister who used to take him on adventures in the woods with sticks for swords turned into this.

Arthur leaned back, careful to make his tone bland. “In my closet.”

She made a voice low in her throat that made Arthur think of violence and a dragon's roar. Very carefully, he kept his face schooled into a disappointed mask of disapproval. “Ana,” He started, “this isn't good for you.”

“Shut up, Arthur.” Morgana bit out. “I'll decide what's good for me or not.”

Arthur sighed. He knew how well-off his big sister was when she resorted to telling him blatantly to shut up rather than twist his words and actions into a case in which he, Arthur himself, was the obvious guilty party. _Well_ , he thought, _and Father._

“Ana-”

“Stop it with that ridiculous nickname!” Morgana exclaimed. “I didn't like it when we were children, and I don't like it now!”

Arthur gritted his teeth but managed to pull the mask back on just in time. He looked grim rather than angry as he fought the losing battle. “Morgana, you need help.”

She recoiled back as if she had been slapped. It didn't take much to imagine such a thing with her bruises and painful-looking exterior. Arthur watched as a flush lit her cheeks in a different kind of fury. Shame didn't color her cheeks. It was all the misdirected anger and false notions. “I don't need anything.”

“You need professional help.” Arthur plowed on, keeping his voice level. “If you don't, you'll kill yourself or go mental-”

“I'm not mad!” She interrupted, but this time gave Arthur pause. There was something in her eyes of fear and desperation well hidden beneath her anger and self-righteousness. It seemed as though she was actually afraid. “I'm not.” She whispered in the silence.

“I know you're not.” Arthur whispered, letting his face soften. He leaned forward, holding out his hands. Slowly, he watched as she scooted forward on his bed and hesitantly placed her soft hands in his. They probably looked a mess, a junkie and a disappointment holding hands in the middle of a barren though posh room, but Arthur didn't care. This was his big sister.

“I'll stop.” She whispered.

Arthur's head jerked up, a dumb look on his face. “What?”

Morgana swallowed again. “I promise I'll stop. It's just . . . they . . . .”

“They what?” Arthur asked quietly, rubbing circles into the back of her hand. She didn't relax, but she met his eyes, and somehow, Arthur knew that she was going to tell him the truth.

“They make everything go away.” She whispered, shaken. Her lips trembled. “I just want it all to go away.”

Arthur didn't know just what to say. He knew the temptation of wanting everything to go away. He knew it so well, in fact, that it was only his father's scathing words and lack of the foul killers themselves that stopped him. How could he possibly give a word of advice when he himself didn't know what to do to stop?

Morgana threw herself at him, and Arthur realized he was shaking. With a strong resolve, he held his sister to himself and closed his eyes. “I know, Ana. I know.”

And indeed he did.

 

 

Dinner went just as it normally did. Arthur and Morgana spoke only when directly asked a question as Uther dominated the conversation. As soon as they could be excused without being too suspicious, they disappeared to Arthur's room.

They stayed there until late when Uther called. “Arthur!”

Arthur winced, bolting to his feet. Like a man marching to slaughter, he made his way to the source of the dreaded call. Uther Pendragon stood next to the sink with dark eyes, looking like a tyrant-a terror.

“Father?” Arthur asked softly. He could feel it as he seemed to shut down, getting into the mindset of _Arthur-father's-slave_ rather than _Arthur-Morgana's-little-brother_. Uther glowered at him as if the world's end itself were his fault.

“What is this?” The man gestured down to the floor, and the blood drained from Arthur's face.

The blood. He hadn't cleaned the floor.

Arthur forced himself to look his father in the eyes. “I am sorry. I injured myself and-”

“So you thought that just because you had a mishap you could just neglect your responsibilities?” Uther demanded. Before Arthur could stutter out a reply to his harsh, angry father, Uther straightened, clearly looking down on Arthur. “One day, you won't be living under my roof, and you'll have more responsibilities than that of cleaning up after yourself.” The man's nose wrinkled in disdain.

Arthur bit his tongue like the dutiful son should.

“One day, you will be the face of Pendragon Enterprises.” Uther started, eyes softening just a fraction. “Make me proud starting today.”

Arthur nodded. “Yes, Father.”

Uther gave him a piercing look before nodding, his lip twitching in an almost smile. “Clean this up.”

“Yes, Father.” Repeated Arthur, bowing his head. As soon as the man was gone, Arthur retrieved a rag and, realizing they were out of Bleach, grabbed some Comet. He had just wet the cloth and poured a bit of the white powder on the browning stain on the tile when a heavy presence appeared in the doorway.

Blue eyes searching, Arthur gazed upward only for his eyes to meet with those of his sister. Still messy (but clothed acceptably for dinner), Morgana held the same look of contempt she'd worn when they'd argued once she had woken with a clear head. Arthur wanted to look away, but he couldn't. Their eyes had met, sealing them in a trance.

“He's wrong.” Morgana stated, and quite suddenly, Arthur realized his lungs were begging for a breath. He almost couldn't take it. “He's so wrong.”

Arthur dropped her gaze, unable to keep looking. Hands shaking and palm burning, Arthur began scrubbing away the dried blood smear. He winced as he felt the pain in his hand flare at the abuse.

“You're not irresponsible. You take care of me, him, yourself, the house-everything. That's not your responsibility, either. It's your choice.” Ana's heated statements made Arthur glance up in surprise.

“I-”

“Arthur, what mess are you cleaning up?” Morgana's eyes, dark and destructive as they were beautiful, took on a more concerned edge. “Is that blood?”

Blue eyes dropped again. “It's nothing-”

“Nothing your ego, Arthur.” Morgana snapped. “That is blood!” The girl stomped over and dropped down, not even wincing from her painful bruising. She snatched the cloth from his hands to scrub with, catching Arthur's bandage in the process. Throwing it down, the wild girl jerked his wrist toward her so fast Arthur didn't have time to defend himself. With quick, efficient motions, Morgana undid the unraveling bandage and spread his palm close to her face with an upset, pinched expression. She thumbed one of the stitches.

“Ow, Morgana!” Arthur snapped, tension making his pride rise. “Stop!”

“You idiot!” Snapped Morgana. “It's bleeding and oozing and everything! You should have gone to a doctor!”

Every hair on the back of Arthur's neck rose. He didn't want a physician. They were all wrong with their white gloves and masks and happy smiles. They didn't fit, and Arthur hated- _hated_ hospitals, and where else would a physician be-

“Okay, okay! I get it! You don't like hospitals!” Ana snapped tightening her hold on Arthur's injured hand. Arthur blinked. Had he spoken aloud? “You should have come to me. Anyone can stitch better than you.” Her eyes were sad, and Arthur bit his lip.

“You weren't awake.” He stated simply. She stiffened but nodded, releasing him to grab the first aid kit. She pulled out a pair of shears and began cutting off his crude stitches and pulling them out from the messy wound. Slowly, she disinfected it and stitched it. Then, with careful hands, she carefully wrapped it.

“Done.” Morgana said, looking up at him through thick lashes. She gripped the cloth and started wiping away the last of the dried blood with a concentrated look on her face.

Arthur stepped forward. “Morgana, Father told me-”

“I know what he said.” Snapped the girl, a sneer coming over her face. “So don't talk to me about what he said. I don't want to hear it.” She finished wiping away the blood, and her expression broke tragically.

“Morgana-”

“Does he even care that the mess you made was from where you were bleeding out on the floor?” She asked, cutting him off. Her eyes were wet, and Arthur felt his breath catch. Whatever she was talking about was more than just being ordered to clean up the blood. “You were on the ground, and he didn't seem to care.” She rose her head to stare him in the eye.

Arthur licked his lips. “He's just trying to prepare me-”

A fierce anger lit her face, and she jumped to her feet. “Arthur, Arthur!” Morgana called, imitating their father. “One day, the company will be yours! You have to be perfect for it! Clean up after us, Arthur! You'll have more responsibilities soon! Arthur, Arthur, if you're salutatorian instead of valedictorian, you'll have failed me! Arthur, come do everything for me! Arthur, you're bleeding out on the floor? Don't forget to clean up after yourself, Arthur! You don't want to give the Pendragon line a bad name!”

Slightly shaking, Arthur reached out to stop her. “Ana-”

“Oh, no, Arthur, no! That's just wrong. Come now, Arthur, not a second later lest you ruin everything I've worked for! Here, Arthur, bow down before me and sing my praises! Louder, Arthur! Here, Arthur, come lick my shoes! Not like that, Arthur! Do it again and better this time-”

“Morgana!” Arthur exclaimed. His face was twisted into a look of such hurt that Morgana dropped the dirty rag in sudden understanding. There was a certain lilt to his lips that made Morgana see how clearly she'd broken his strong exterior. She rushed him, pulling him into a warm embrace. He melted there, all shaking, awkward limbs pulled into her arms.

“I'm sorry.” Morgana whispered, smoothing down his blond hairs soothingly. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. I mean, I'm not angry.” She breathed out heavily. “Well, I am angry, but I'm not angry at you. I'm angry at our father.” Arthur flinched in her arms. “I mean, he's our father and all, but he's never been our Da.”

“I know.” Arthur whispered. His voice wasn't shaking, though it was quiet. Strong arms wrapped around his big sister, grip tight.

They just stayed there for a time.

 

 

_Arthur's heart was broken as he looked out the window. He leaned heavily on the wall beside it, watching Camelot in the morning and tracing the route he knew that Guinevere had taken in her exile. His fingers absentmindedly traced over his left ring finger where his engagement ring belonged._

_No. Where it didn't belong._

_The door to the room creaked open almost silently, and he glanced over to see Merlin walking in, balancing one of the best breakfasts Merlin had ever brought him. A soft smile attempted to make its way to his lips, but it was quickly stolen away. She closed the door and turned around, making her way to the desk. He watched as she glanced at the bed and nearly lost his breakfast in surprise at not seeing him._

_Then she caught sight of him._

  _She was messy, just as she normally was in the morning with her wrinkled clothes and barely-tied bandana, and her skin was pale and drawn from staying up late into the night. However, her steps were just as sure as they normally were when she was awake, and she set the platter down on the desk. Her hands met in front of her. “Sire.”_

  _Sire. Arthur let out a slow breath from his nose. Today was not a normal day. There were no odd morning calls nor yelling nor joking. It would seem to be a careful day wherein Merlin would toe around him, test his boundaries to make sure to suit him, and would be quick to cater to his every whim._

  _He hated these days._

_However, Arthur held out his hand, gesturing her to come forth._

_There was no hesitation. Merlin immediately made her way around the desk and stood before him, looking him in the eye and waiting for her next chore. The light from the rising sun seemed to light her eyes and make them shine like a fine blue silk bordered with thick, dark lashes. Very slowly, he rose his hand and caressed her cheek, resting his calloused thumb against her pink lips, puffy from nervous chewing._

  _Slowly, he lay his forehead against hers. “I wish it was you.” He said honestly._

_Merlin shivered, leaning into his hand. With a gentle hand, she took his other hand and traced it with an uncharacteristic softness. She held it so carefully it was as if his hand were a precious thing that was only to be treated with the utmost care and respect._

_He knew it meant that Merlin wished it was her, too._

 

 

 Arthur's eyes snapped open, and he breathed hard, hands shaking. He sat up and controlled his breathing before trying to remember what he had dreamed. Big mistake.

 “Think, think, think!” Arthur whispered to himself, rubbing his temples. He thought he remembered blue eyes and a feeling of discontent, but he couldn't quite remember for sure. He rubbed his ring finger absentmindedly before blowing out a minty huff. “It's useless.” He let himself fall backward on his pillow unhappily. 

 He wished he could remember his dreams. They always seemed so important. 

 But they never stayed with him.

 

 

 Morgana and Arthur separated in the courtyard, Morgana running to the guidance office for her schedule and Arthur finding a bench to sit on. Looking around, he felt stupid for not realizing the school was a castle. It was practically the stereotypical castle from every movie Arthur had ever seen! If there weren't so many banners and kids with bags wandering around, Arthur could believe it was a place where one could step right into the past. 

 With slow hands, he unfolded his schedule. First, he had AP English with Mr. Borden. Arthur frowned when he realized there was no room number on the sheet. He was literally turning it over to check for any writing on the back when someone snatched the paper from his hand.

 “Hey!” Arthur exclaimed indignantly. However, he pulled himself back when he saw Gwaine and Percival standing over him, both looking at the schedule in Gwaine's hands. 

 “I see. You've got Borden first? The guy's a bit rude, but he likes his subject.” Gwaine said, looking at Arthur with a dopey grin on his face. “It just so happens that we have that same class. We can show you the way.”

“How do you know the way?” Arthur asked, eyebrows furrowing. “There are no room numbers on the page.”

“That's because there are no room numbers.” Gwaine stated, jumping over the bench and plopping himself down beside Arthur.

Percival rolled his eyes, walking around the bench like a normal person and sitting on Arthur's other side. “There are guides, more or less. They hang out in the hallway and give directions. Teachers have rooms, so you find the room by the teacher. Many of them have signs in the hallway or flowers or something for students to remember their room by.”

“That doesn't sound very efficient.” Arthur said.

“It's not.” Percival said at the same time that Gwaine shrugged. “It works.”

“Okay, so you said you knew where Mr. Borden's was?” Arthur directed the conversation, and the two nodded, guiding him through the doors and along the first floor to a room with a dragon statue beside the door. Arthur blinked at it.

“Why-”

 “You'll soon see.” Percival interrupted. His eyes darted to the side as if looking for someone, but there was no one there. It made Arthur's heart sink at the empty, alone feeling he got. 

“He's a bit mad.” Said Gwaine. “He's got a thing for dragons. I've heard that all the books we're going to read and report on this year are medieval.”

“Really?” Questioned Arthur with a risen brow.

“Yeah.” Percival replied. “It'll be kinda nice, though. We're going to be studying the same writings in here as in Arthurian Studies.”

“You have that class, too?” Asked Arthur as he led them inside. The desks were arranged in groupings of five, and Arthur took a seat at the one closest to the door in the front. On the opposite side was a desk, empty of the resident teacher, and a whiteboard hung in the front. The room was barely lit, giving it a strangely comforting, creepy feel. He sunk into his chair as Percy and Gwaine sat down.

“Yeah.” Percy replied. “We both do.”

Arthur blinked and realized that Gwaine wasn't talking for a reason. His eyes were sad, and his face had a look of such sorrow etched into it that it was a wonder he could be a jester. He was staring off behind Arthur. Arthur turned, following his gaze.

To his surprise, the dark lighting had hidden two figures seated in the opposite corner. None other than Merlin and the girl from their little group. The girl with the intense eyes seemed to be looking for something in her backpack. His eyebrows furrowed. Her name . . . .

“Freya and Merlin.” Whispered Percy, his voice dropping not from the fear of being overheard but from the obvious pain that he was suffering from just speaking. “They're always like that.”

Freya seemed to find whatever it was and pulled it out. In her hands was applesauce and a plastic spoon. Arthur watched in silence as Freya opened it, her lips moving in a mute storm to Merlin as she stirred it and brought a small spoonful to Merlin's lips. She whispered something, and Merlin's lips parted. She took the spoonful, and Freya dipped the spoon into the applesauce again. The entire time, Merlin's blank expression never faltered, and something within Arthur yowled painfully.

“I'll be right back.” Arthur turned in time to see Gwaine stand and make his way to the two girls with sad, purposeful strides.

“Merlin has always been like that. It's like something is broken within her that no one quite knows what is. She does what she's told but only orders. It's like she's on automatic drive.” Percy said softly, leaning toward Arthur despite both of their gazes being on the three figures across the room. Gwaine knelt by Merlin and Freya. They watched as Freya surrendered the spoon with a slightly pained look as if she were giving away her life. Gwaine murmured soft nothings to Merlin as he fed her, one hand touching hers almost experimentally. “Her group is protective. Will, Freya, Daegal, and Gilli are kind of her friends. The only person they let near them is Gwaine, though Freya is the only one who really lets him interact with Merlin. Will is the most protective. Gwaine would probably fight him if it wouldn't make him lose Merlin privileges.”

Arthur found his mind going back to the day before when the brown-haired boy returned his bag with a good number of scathing words. _That must be Will._ He thought.

“Has she always been . . . .” Arthur trailed off, not sure what to say.

“As long as we've known her.” Murmured Percy. “She started here in sophomore year. It was almost immediate how Freya and them came together. To be honest, Freya and Will hated each other and neither Gilli nor Daegal knew anyone. It just happened that they came together for her.”

Arthur watched, slightly sad, as Gwaine wiped a little applesauce from the despondent girl's lips. His heart almost seized.

“Of course,” Percy added, seemingly unable to stop once he'd started, “they were a little less lax then. A few of us, Gwen, Lance, and Gwaine especially, would come and help out, but that was before . . . .”

Arthur looked up as Percy's tone became dark and angry, and for no reason at all, he thought back to the day before when Gwaine spoke of the teacher's blindness to deserved beatings. Arthur's blue eyes met Percy's darkly.

“What happened last year?”

Percy didn't answer.

Arthur hadn't expected him to.

 


	3. Welcome to Arthurian Studies!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is stupid, Arthur hates doors, and Arthur doesn't believe the dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, guys. This should have been updated ages ago. I deeply apologize. A lot of stupid things got in the way, but now my computer is fixed and I have internet. Hopefully, if there's anyone still reading this story, you'll enjoy this chapter.

The next few hours seemed terrifying, slow, and boring. How that combination could work together, Arthur would never know, but he found that Merlin was in all of his classes-all of them. How she was in AP Psychology, Business Management (with the most fear-inspiring teacher Arthur had ever met), and AP Physiology when she seemed completely dependent on her group of friends absolutely astounded Arthur, but he didn't say anything. Not to her, not to his new friends, not to Morgana, and definitely not to her guard dog.

_William bloody Prince._

Arthur scowled at him, ignoring not only the teacher but Percival, Leon, and the fuming Gwaine as well. Maybe Arthur would have paid more attention to the teacher (or really the scaring on his face-there was something familiar about it) or his new friends, but Arthur was completely absorbed in imagining all the ways that he could get that bloody idiot away from Merlin. His personal favorite was accidentally setting the boy's jacket on fire so far, but Arthur doubted he could actually execute that without being caught and having his Merlin time restricted like Gwaine.

Not that he had any Merlin time, anyway.

A shiver ran up his spine at the thought. He wished he could just steal her away, even if it were just for a moment. He just didn't understand why he kept feeling so _wrong_ when he wasn't around her, wasn't next to her, wasn't at her side. And there was a little voice in his head that whispered that he just needed one moment, and everything would be okay. Somehow, all he needed was a moment, even if he wanted much, much more. Oh, the things he wanted-

Percival made a choking sound, and Arthur looked over in surprise and slight alarm. The jolly giant had suddenly gone very pale and looked as though he were going to be ill. A haunted look entered his kind eyes as they stared unseeingly at the redhead in their group, and Arthur felt a sense of panic wrap around him as he realized what was happening to his new friend, what he himself had experienced far too many times. Arthur didn't know how to deal with panic attacks, not even his own.

He glanced over, not sure what he was expecting.

Leon looked just as surprised and panicked as Arthur did, but Gwaine was completely calm and relaxed, at ease. With a practiced hand, Gwaine slid a hand around the giant's shoulders and practically lifted him out of his seat, guiding him to the hallway. The teacher (Mr. Muriden? Arthur forgot already.) hardly even glanced up, not even pausing in his speech. With a glance around, Arthur realized that he was the only one completely thrown by the display. Even Leon looked as though he were calming down.

"What just happened?" Arthur whispered, leaning toward the redhead.

The other man looked up, a look of surprise mixing with his relief. It was like he'd forgotten that Arthur was new and didn't know everything. It was starting to surprise Arthur, too, to be honest. He wasn't sure why, but it seemed almost as if he'd spent his whole life at Avalon High, like there was nothing before this school, this place. "It happens sometimes. Percy has panic attacks. A lot of people here do." Leon shifted uncomfortably as if he didn't want to dive deeper into the topic. Arthur figured it was taboo. "Must be something in the food."

Arthur smiled weakly. "Do you know what caused it?"

Leon shrugged. "Mr. Muirden said something about a crossbow bolt to the stomach."

Arthur didn't ask any more questions.

Glancing over, Arthur searched Merlin's eyes for something, anything. Maybe some form of worry or curiosity or even a pair of searching blue eyes. He saw nothing.

 

 

 

 

Arthur wasn't sure what made him do it.

(Okay, yes, he did, but that didn't mean that he planned to break the rules on the second day of school!)

He was just walking to the cafeteria, glad he still remembered the way when the crowd dragged Leon away from him, when his schedule fell. But of course, it didn't just _fall_. No, it managed to float right underneath the doorway at the end of the corridor next to the turn to the cafeteria. Arthur gripped the door handle, finding that it wasn't locked.

Instead, the door was stuck.

Arthur scowled, dropping his backpack. With a shoulder worthy of American football (no wonder he'd played while in America), he threw his weight against the door. He hoped no one noticed him, though, because this would be difficult to explain, especially since he didn't know anyone here or have a good reputation that could get him out of such a situation if he were to be caught. He pushed a little harder, and with a great jolt and groan, the door swung open. Arthur spilled onto the floor, landing harshly in the small, lit region of light on the floor. He blinked in surprise, running a tired hand through his blond hairs as he brought himself to his feet. Now he just needed to find his schedule and-

_Slam!_

Arthur jolted, suddenly plunged into darkness. "No, no, no, no, no!" He managed, spinning around and falling forward desperately in the dark, feeling for a handle. Unable to find one, Arthur forced himself to breathe deeply and calmly. "Okay, okay. Think. Light."

With a calm hand, he pulled his mobile from his jacket pocket, thankful he hadn't left it in his backpack on the other side of the door. Feeling it come to life beneath his finger, he turned the device on the door.

It had no handle.

"Bloody-" Arthur cut himself off, cursing the heavens in his mind. He was essentially trapped, locked away from where anyone might find him. He could be there for days, and no one would check because it was probably a room that was supposed to be locked, closed down, on the no-fly list. With a sigh, he turned away.

In the very least, he could get his schedule.

With a few flicks, Arthur turned on his phone's torch. With the light tunneling forward, Arthur realized that he was looking at what appeared to be stairs-old ones. Though they were built into the castle, they still made him rather nervous. When was the last time that they'd been used? With measured steps, he made his way down them, searching for his paper all the while. At the bottom of the steps, something just caught his eye. Stepping forward, he smiled. His schedule!

He hurried over, pausing at the dungeons. Considering that it was a medieval castle, it suddenly occurred to him that prisoners were kept here once. Eyes wide, he stepped forward, running his hand over one of the old, rusted bars. He could just imagine being trapped, reaching through the bars, begging to be let out or to just _make sure this gets to-_

Arthur backed away, turning his gaze back toward the flash of white. He rushed forward, snatching the important piece of paper from the ground. He didn't even think to wonder how it managed to float so far away from the door it fell from. Instead, he prepared to fold it and place it safely in a pocket.

Unfortunately, it was then that a warm blast of air gushed through the dungeons, surprising Arthur and carrying away his schedule once again. With an indignant huff, he followed it again. However, this time when he walked forward, he saw an opening-almost like a cave-that made him stare in surprise. A feeling of foreboding washed over him, warning him of something horrible and dangerous sitting on the other side like some forgotten base instinct. It reminded him of every fairy tale he'd ever read. A beast beneath the castle dungeons. Arthur wanted to get his schedule, run back up the stairs, and bang on the door until someone, anyone heard him.

But Arthur Pendragon was no coward.

A curious glint in his eye, Arthur stepped forward. As he walked, it seemed to grow more and more eerie. His mobile seemed to shed the only light on the cavernous path as it sloped downward. Deeper and deeper Arthur went, and he felt a sheen of sweat begin to form on his forehead as it seemed to grow a bit warmer. Wasn't it supposed to get cooler? Hot air rising and all? Arthur removed his jacket, tying the offending piece of clothing around his waist as best he could one-handed.

Without warning, Arthur's light suddenly went out, and Arthur's eyes widened. Surprised, the man missed his footing, tripping and rolling forward as a crack resounded from the space where Arthur had lost his grip on his phone. Arthur hit the ground hard, unable to save himself. It was so dark, Arthur later couldn't be sure whether or not he'd fallen into unconsciousness.

 

 

 

 

_Merlin gently took Morgana's hands, stopping their shaking. Very slowly as if not to spook Morgana any more than what she already was, Merlin touched a hand to her cheek. It wasn't immediate or completely trusting, but Morgana seemed to melt into Merlin's touch with a soft flutter of her eyelashes as she closed her bright eyes._

_"It's okay, Morgana." Merlin whispered, eyes sparkling with happy tears. "It's okay. I forgive you."_

_Morgana opened her eyes, lifting her own hand to the touch on her face. It felt strangely intimate but definitely worth it after so much fear and hatred, but that was all behind her now, and Morgana wanted to prove it. Morgana spoke so softly she was nearly whispering to the other girl. "And I forgive-"_

Morgana jolted awake, dropping the book that she had been trying to read before she'd fallen asleep. Her heart was still pounding, and she didn't understand, found she couldn't understand. With shaky legs, she picked up the books and placed it back on the library's shelf, thankful that she'd chosen a seat far away from the front where the librarian roamed, not that he'd really notice her. He was too busy starting at the student librarian, the assistant like she might disappear if he looked away (and Morgana could tell with a look that those two had a spark that they probably shouldn't have and were denying).

She walked with stronger and stronger steps until she'd reached the entrance to the other corner of the library surrounded by the historical fiction books. Where they couldn't see her, Morgana watched the small group around the silent, unseeing girl as they spoke and laughed quietly with quizzical eyes. Morgana let herself look past the boy with the sad, empathic eyes and the girl with the strange smile and examine the silent girl from her dreams. Morgana searched the blank brunet for anything reminiscent of the emotional girl in her latest dream.

 The Merlin in her dream looked ready to burst from happiness. Her blue eyes sparkled with emotion, and there were lines around her eyes from laughter and movement. Even her hands, both soft and strangely calloused, were completely alive in their gentleness and carefulness. Morgana's eyes almost pleaded with Merlin as she searched for the girl from her dream.

 But she was just that.

A dream.

 

 

 

 

Arthur blinked dizzily, slightly dazed. He pulled himself to his knees and shook his head, hands searching for the mobile he'd dropped in the pitch blackness. Frustration niggled at the back of his mind as he continued to fail. It was then that, with a shocked yelp, he discovered the ledge. Arthur managed to jump back before he could fall, but he couldn't stop himself from scraping his already injured hand against the jagged surface rather painfully. Breathing heavily from his blind escapade, Arthur furrowed his eyebrows. _What . . . ._

A chuckle reverberated through Arthur's limbs, and fear prickled at him. Suddenly, those long tales of monsters beneath castles waiting to maim and murder didn't sound all that farfetched. "Ah, so you've finally come."

Light suddenly erupted in the cavern, revealing what looked to be a cave with pillars of stone and a mound of rock in front of him. Glancing behind, Arthur found that he'd walked through what looked almost like a cave opening onto a ledge. Glancing down from the height, Arthur found himself looking at a far drop with only stone and what looked to be an iron chain at the bottom. With a gulp, he took a slight step back.

Another chuckle filled the cavern, and Arthur's heart jumped as something ginormous seemed to land on the rock formation in front of him. Tan scales and horns glinted evilly in the new light of the cavern as the monster folded in almost demonic wings and looked at him with sharp eyes that could practically be smirking themselves. Sharp teeth like daggers revealed themselves as the creature looked as though it wished to laugh again. Arthur could only describe it as . . . as . . . "A dragon?"

The dragon laughed again, this time more of a booming laugh than a chuckle. "Yes, young king. I am Kilgharrah."

Not just a dragon. A _talking_ dragon. Faintly, Arthur wondered why he was so surprised it could talk. After all, it had laughed like a human. Why not speak like one as well? And besides, who else was there to greet him with a vaguely ominous tone and possibly deadly consequences (other than his father, of course)?

Then Arthur clued into what the beast had said. "Young king? I'm no king."

The dragon smiled at him again. "Oh, but you are. The Once and Future King."

Something jolted in Arthur, and something in him fought. Something about that phrase, that title-it was wrong. It was supposed to be a secret, silent, something that Arthur knew despite having never known or heard it. Though Arthur hardly knew why it was so, he immediately tensed at the monster's easy use of it. Somehow, this Kilgharrah was not to know what it meant nor what it was, either. It was special and only to be used by . . . by . . . . He didn't know. But he knew that they were important, more important than he ever knew. He took a calming breath, pushing away the confusing tightness in his chest. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The dragon's smile became sad. "Ah. Your memory has not returned then." Arthur blinked at that. His memory? What was that supposed to mean? "Where is your servant? I have not seen her in too many years. She can help you."

"My servant?" Repeated Arthur, and Kilgharrah gave a huff as if unhappy with humanity's stupidity, and Arthur eyed the dragon warily as if preparing himself to run in case it began to blow fire or lunged at Arthur and decided to eat him raw rather than roasted.

"Yes, your servant. Surely you must know her in this time as well, even if she is not your servant." The dragon replied, one wing stretching as if to emphasize more (as if he needed it, the bloody dragon). His scaly tail twitched impatiently. "Merlin."

Arthur's world tilted to the side. "Merlin? But she can't be."

"And why is that, young king?" Questioned the dragon, horns glinting dangerously in the light. He looked almost amused at Arthur's plight, but there was still an underlying frustration that made his scales bristle. Arthur imagined that his amusement might fall away once he found out why Merlin couldn't possibly be his servant.

Arthur swallowed.

"Merlin is . . . wrong." Arthur finally managed. The dragon gave him a look as if it were contemplating eating him. Arthur immediately rushed on, the weight of his words almost weighing him down. "I don't know what is wrong with her, but she does not speak, does not hear, does not do anything of her free will. All she can do is follow orders. It's . . . ." Arthur shivered at the thought of her blank eyes. "It's like she has no soul."

Kilgharrah gave him a look that screamed dangerous, and he suddenly looked ten times as monstrous as when he'd swooped down from the ceiling. He looked angry. "I see. This is very grave, young king."

Arthur felt his frustration bristle again, and maybe it shouldn't have, but he was done-done with idiotic doors with no handles, done with the drugs, done with the flashes, done with Merlin's apathy, and he was _especially_ done with stupid _talking dragons_. "I'm not a king, Once or Future or otherwise." He snapped. "I don't even know what it is you want me to remember."

The dragon chuckled, but this time, it held a hint of his previous anger and a condescending tone that hadn't quite been there before. "I see that you truly do not remember."

The blond scowled, blue eyes sharp. _Well, duh._

"No, I don't. Will you just . . . tell me?" Arthur spoke. The dragon regarded him coldly before it straightened on its perch, preparing. It made Arthur stop, even his anger turning more and more to nervousness.

"You are King Arthur, the Once and Future King, prophesied to bring together Albion and come again the day that you are needed again." The dragon stated, sparkling eyes fixed on the blond teenager before him. Before Arthur could say another word, the dragon continued. "And I fear that the time is upon us, you may have to do it on your own."

Arthur's lips parted. "King Arthur . . . you don't mean-"

"King of Camelot?" The dragon interrupted. Arthur nodded, wide-eyed. "Yes, I do."

Arthur, pale and with his heart suddenly beating and his head pounding in time with each other, shook his head in immediate denial. "That can't be right. He was just a myth. A story. Camelot wasn't-"

"Camelot was and still is. You stand in the very castle that housed you over a thousand years ago." The dragon stated, and Arthur couldn't wrap his hurting mind around the idea. It was just too insane. "But that is beside the point. Now, we must focus on Merlin."

Arthur blinked and blinked again. His servant was Merlin. Except that couldn't be right! Not even if the legends were true! "But Merlin was an old man in the legends! And he wasn't a servant, either. How can he be the same as-as the girl? As that girl?"

The dragon chuckled again, obviously laughing at Arthur even with his unchecked anger still nagging at him. "Many things are different. Time changes history. A woman in that time couldn't be thought of as so powerful, and so she was often depicted as a man. From there, she couldn't be thought of as young or once a servant or even uneducated and so on. It is the same for the rest of your legends as well. Many things are different from the history of Camelot. Regardless, Merlin must be saved, and you-you are King Arthur."

Arthur's eyes narrowed at the beast before him as he rubbed his temples tiredly. He was still angry and nervous, but he was starting to wonder if it would be better if he just walked away from the insane lizard before him. It was only the vision of bright, searching, blue eyes like crystal that stopped him. “Okay. How do I save Merlin?”

The dragon stared at him for a moment, anger seemingly faded, before it lifted its snout toward the ceiling in thought. “Tell me, do you feel as though you cannot touch her? Do the people around her avoid her at all costs?”

Arthur shifted at the sudden questioning before he made himself think. He answered slowly. “No. It's a bit of the opposite, really. Many of us wish to be around her, to protect her and somehow guide her. She brings many together. I doubt anyone could stay away from her if they tried.”

Kilgharrah's tail seemed to twitch on its place on the mound of rock before the dragon dropped its head to look at Arthur once again, seemingly lost in thought. “Ah.”

Arthur's eyebrows furrowed. “Ah? That's it? What's wrong with her?”

The dragon gave him an impatient look as if he were some impertinent child. Arthur got the feeling that he'd be dead by now if the dragon didn't believe him to be the past king of Camelot. It spoke slowly, voice echoing in the cave. “From what you describe, she is not soulless. Merely, it is that her soul has been locked outside of her body somewhere nearby. Otherwise, you wouldn't be so drawn to her.”

Arthur blinked in surprise. “What?”

The creature ignored him, continuing on in a grave voice. “I can still sense her presence, so her soul must still be here. There's only one possibility. A locking spell of some sort that has left her body but an empty vessel.”

Arthur scowled at the creature, his own frustration at being ignored making him feel even angrier than the dragon before him. Without thinking of the consequences, he asked “How is that even supposed to help?”

The dragon turned its eyes, dark and cold, on Arthur and spoke again with a degrading tone as if to not belittle humanity itself, just Arthur. “Only by knowing the cause can one find the solution. You must find a way to restore her before it comes time for your destiny to complete.”

 _Destiny. Great._ Arthur scowled. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

“With caution, young king.” Kilgharrah stated, stretching his demonic wings out. Arthur stepped back immediately, remembering who-or rather what-it was he was speaking with. “Find what it is that her soul has been locked inside and bring it to me. Good luck. You shall need it, King Arthur.”

With those vague words, he flew off toward the ceiling. “Wait! What things? How am I supposed to find them?” The boy called, but the dragon didn't even spare him a glance, ignoring Arthur's desperate cries.

Arthur growled curses at the ceiling, muttering about useless dragons were among his profanities as he turned away from the brightly lit cavern to the still darkened tunnel leading back to the high school. He was about to dreadfully make his way up through the dark to the dungeon when he caught sight of a slight shine on the floor. Glancing down, he picked up the glinting item to reveal it was his mobile.

There was a crack running down the center of the screen.

Arthur cursed, angry at the thought of telling his father, as he clicked the power button. A power cord and a lightning bolt appeared on the screen just before it darkened again, the cavern lights dimming with it. With angry motions, Arthur shoved the phone back in his jacket pocket, ignoring the pain that lit up along his hand and marched toward the darkened cave. He was determined to make it back, even in the dark.

It was only when he had (painfully) rammed his toe against a dungeon bar and nearly died tripping on his forgotten schedule (that he quickly pocketed with the sudden realization that he'd forgotten it in his curiosity) that Arthur stopped, freezing where he stood.

Because he'd just been talking with a _dragon._ And not just talking, either. Arthur had shouted at it, no wisdom or common sense peaking through his anger. And he'd argued with about a fairy tale, a story. About magic soul bindings. About Camelot. About past lives. About _King Arthur._

Arthur clamped a pale hand over his face, hiding it from the accusing darkness. He felt panicked and a sense of deliriousness as he considered what had happened. It was absolute insanity. Arthur told himself it was a hallucination, a dream of some kind because dragons didn't exist and neither did Camelot or King Arthur or _Merlin_ -except that Arthur didn't want to be mental. He couldn't be. 

All the things that the dragon said, too-They fit.

Oh, all the things the dragon said fit so well, and Arthur didn't want to believe he was crazy. He didn't want to be crazy. From the nightmares to the flashes to the drugs to therapists to feelings of betrayal and comradeship with strangers to the looks that Uther would sometimes give him like there was something about him that just didn't sit well with his father, and he had to push Arthur to become the man that Uther wanted him to be-

Arthur felt as though he were choking, and he gripped the iron bars, sliding to his knees as he shook, and his head _hurt_ and-

In a flash of white, Arthur could see anxious blue eyes, watched as his knight's chain mail glittered in the moonlight, and things were suddenly very hot, and fire, fire, _fire_ -

_The world was burning a blinding white-_

Arthur jerked back, wincing as some bruises from his fall in the cavern protested the movement. His hands ached, and it took Arthur a moment to realize that he'd clenched them so tightly around the dungeon bars in the blackness that it physically hurt to make them let go, his injured one much more so, but he forced them away from the iron just as he forced away the suspicious dryness that was tickling the back of his throat. He swallowed, chest heaving at the flash, at the idea of the flash, at the _dragon._

Because that dragon-Arthur knew-was the monster at the end of the book, and he was underneath a school of five-hundred people.

And not one would believe him if he tried to stop the slaughter. They'd think he was insane.

Arthur was a Pendragon. He was not afraid, and he definitely was not crazy.

Arthur forced himself to his feet, shaken in the cool, stale dungeon air as he stumbled through the blackness to where he thought the stairs were. After careful feeling, leaning against the opposite wall, and some very unfortunate near falls, Arthur stumbled to the door that Arthur wished with all of his being had just been locked. Without thinking, he reached for where the handle should have been (but wasn't because that was what caused this entire mess, and-)

There was a handle, cold to the touch and startling to the blond.

His anger, searing and indignant, reared up again. How come it couldn't have been there the last time he needed it? Why wasn't it there? Even worse, had it been there all along without Arthur even seeing it?

Arthur blamed the dragon.

With a mighty pull, the door swung inward, and Arthur marched out, listening as it slammed shut behind him. Right where Arthur had left it was Arthur's bag. He swung it up on his shoulder, suddenly feeling world-weary.

He was back in the school, and it looked as though lunch was still going on, though nearing its end (Did they have an hour long lunch period? Arthur wasn't down there for any short amount of time!). Before Arthur had nearly lost his schedule completely, it wouldn't have been a shock or very surprising, but all of a sudden, it didn't look real. It was suddenly too strange to look up and see kids eating and laughing, separated into groups like nothing could change. He wondered what they would say, what they would think if they knew there was a dragon underneath their feet.

Arthur wasn't sure what to do when a hand, strong and sturdy, clamped down on the shoulder his bag strap wasn't attached to. He looked up, startled, as Lancelot and Percival stared back at him, both looking slightly worried.

A small part of him wondered what they would think of the beast beneath the castle.

“Hey!” Lancelot smiled slowly, and Arthur felt a small part of his heart shrivel and writhe at the touch, his touch (and he knew it shouldn't, he shouldn't, but for some reason, Arthur saw Lance's hand on Gwen's hip, and didn't Lancelot take Guinevere away from Arthur in the legends, but Arthur wasn't King Arthur-). “We were worried you'd gotten lost. I'm glad you made your way here.”

“Even if it is the end of lunch hour.” Percival tacked on, removing his hand from Arthur's shoulder. Arthur smiled at the giant weakly.

“Are you alright?” Asked Lance, eyebrows furrowing in concern. “You seem pale.”

Percival frowned, and the two friends examined Arthur with worried eyes, and Arthur felt a bit tempted to ask if either of them knew that there was a fire-breathing lizard beneath the school. Instead, he gave them a weak smile. “I'm fine.”

They both stared as if waiting for Arthur to continue, but Arthur was stubborn, even if they didn't know it yet. He pulled his (dusty and slightly torn) schedule from his pocket. Neither seemed to notice its wear and tear. “Though I was wondering if either of you knew where the Arthurian Studies class would be. It's with, ah, this teacher, and since lunch will be over in . . . .”

“Two minutes.” Supplied Percival warily, eyes still trained on Arthur's face.

 _Figures._ Arthur thought. _No food for me._

“Right. In two minutes,” Arthur continued, holding his composure as if nothing had happened, “I was hoping that one of you might know the way.”

Percival and Lancelot shared obviously less than satisfied looks, but they turned back to Arthur with looks of resignation. “Well,” Lancelot said, “if you're sure you're alright-”

“I am.” Assured Arthur immediately.

“Then, yeah, we know the way.” Lancelot finished, looking unhappy. Arthur nodded.

“Great.” He said, turning to walk into the cafeteria. The other two men trailed behind him like knights following their liege. Arthur blinked at the analogy, but he didn't allow it to bother him long. He had other things to think about (like a bloody dragon and a curse on a young girl that was supposed to be an old man).

Lancelot and Percival knew not to say anything more as well. They knew it was a hopeless cause already, despite hardly knowing the blond they followed on instinct alone. Neither mentioned the bruises starting to appear from underneath Arthur's shirt.

 

 

 

 

It was alone that Arthur approached the last classroom at the end of the hallway on the third floor. Since it appeared that neither his sister nor any of his new friends shared this period of Arthurian Studies, though they were all taking it, surprisingly, Arthur found that he wouldn't have anyone in the class that he actually knew.

Almost.

Merlin had Arthurian Studies this hour, and unless Alice had just been trying to trick him into the class, Arthur thought she had no reason to lie, leaving Arthur with no reason not to believe her. Merlin was going to be alone. Arthur was going to be alone. They were going to be alone together in the class, and Arthur found the thought of Merlin being there without any of her guard dogs sounded much more enticing than it really should have.

In fact, the feeling of euphoria could almost push away the insane thoughts the dragon planted in Arthur's mind.

But not quite.

Arthur slowed to a stop, eyebrows jumping as he reached what must have been the door to the Arthurian Studies classroom. It really couldn't have been any other classroom based on what sat by the door as an identifier.

There before him lay a stone and in the stone, a sword. Arthur felt a smile quirk his lips as he stepped forward, looking at the sword in the stone. Around the spot where the sword had been buried, white lettering was written in three rings in a language that Arthur felt a vague connection to. He wondered if he could read it if he focused enough-

The sword itself was fairly intriguing. Though it looked like an average long-sword, when Arthur looked closer, he was amazed by all the small details. In the hilt of the sword just above where it had been wrapped in leather, there appeared to be an intricate design of the sun, glinting in the sunbeams from the window. The blade itself looked sharp-sharper than it had any right to be. Knowing that most swords of medieval times to have killed more through the force behind them rather than their sharpness, especially in the case of long-swords, Arthur could just tell that the sword before him was much too sharp. And that was just in the case of being of the actual time period! This sword, sharp enough that it looked as though it could (and had) cut through stone, had no business in a high school.

But Arthur was starting to see that that was a pattern for everything at Avalon High.

Arthur stepped forward, his left hand gently tracing the hilt of the sword with a strange sort of reverence. It was probably just a silly thought, one he'd regret, that passed through his mind. Later, Arthur would put it down to the dragon beneath the school filling his head with nonsense, but standing before the sword in the stone just out of sight of the classroom with the sunlight seeming to shine on the sword that lay before him, Arthur suddenly felt as though he really was King Arthur and that he could pull the sword from the stone and prove that he was worthy just like Merlin kept telling him-

“It's Arthur, right?” Arthur blinked at the feminine voice, jerking his hand back as if he'd been caught stealing from the cookie jar.

He turned toward the voice, heart pounding and head beginning to hurt (as usual). “Ah, yes. Arthur. That's me.”

Looking in front of him, Arthur found his eyes resting on Freya. Dark hair and eyes combined with a pale complexion and red lips, she seemed strangely intense. It was like her very presence terrified even the air around her, but Arthur forced himself to ignore it. After all, her voice was kind. She wore a soft-looking, white sweater, black yoga pants, and brown boots. Over her shoulder, she had a brown bag slung as if she had just thrown it on and had run the entire way to the Arthurian Studies classroom. And at her side was none other than-

“I'm sorry, Arthur, but there's something I must ask. Merlin has this class next, and I don't trust anyone with her.” Those dark, intense eyes bored into Arthur's deep blues, and neither had to mention the fact that Freya didn't trust Arthur with Merlin, either. “I need you to watch out for her please. No one else is in the classroom with her, and you're the best option. Is that okay?” Her eyes sparkled with some kind of knowing, and Arthur got the feeling that she already knew his answer.

“Of course. I'll take care of her.” Arthur replied with only the slightest reverence (because really, he didn't know really why he felt the way he did about Merlin, and he didn't quite believe the dragon yet) leaking into his voice.

Freya let a smirk run along her lips that read _I know_. “Great. So what class do you have before this? I can't be late every day.”

“I have lunch.” Arthur informed the girl, hand tightening on his bag's strap.

Freya's face lit up. “Great! As do I. So do you want to meet on the stairs to the second floor next to the library?”

“Sure.” Arthur agreed readily, and she gave another knowing smile. It might have annoyed Arthur if she weren't willing to hand Merlin over.

“Great. Ah, thank you so much.” Freya ran a hand along Merlin's arm almost sadly with the same reverence that Arthur had for the girl, and Arthur felt a protective streak inside him struggle, but he forced it back down. He had no true rights to Merlin while Freya definitely did and was giving him time to spend with her. He was lucky. “This will be our little secret, okay?” She asked. “No need to tell Will.”

Arthur would definitely agree to that. “Yeah. Our secret. I'll make sure to take care of her.”

Freya gave him one last knowing smile before she said her goodbyes to Arthur and Merlin (which Arthur looked away respectfully at) and exited down the hall. Arthur watched her go. He got the feeling that she'd somehow manipulated him, like she somehow had gotten one over on him, and he hadn't even noticed.

Arthur didn't care. He'd gotten Merlin.

Arthur gently reached for her hand, feeling a shock run from his fingertips to his head to his toes at the simple touch. He searched her face once again for a reaction, but she did nothing, said nothing. She simply continued to stare forward blankly.

Arthur gave a small sigh. “Come with me.” He whispered softly.

The blond turned to the door, ignoring the sword, and entered. The room was of a decent size and was probably some sort of bedroom during the castle's medieval history. The desks were all tables with two seats behind them, and there was one large desk in the front of the room for a teacher. Noticing that there was one open desk at the front in the room of strangers, Arthur led Merlin to it. He had only just gotten them settled when a door at the front of the room opened.

Arthur took a moment to figure out what exactly that door could have led to before it occurred to him that it was probably the servant chambers once upon a time. He hadn't ever really thought about where medieval servants and serfs slept and lived, but he supposed that it made sense that they'd live where their master could have them at their beck and call.

For some reason, it made Arthur nervous. He didn't want to think about it.

The man who entered was a dark-skinned man with a shaved head and soft, brown eyes. His outlook was very kind and professional. He wore a white button-down with a belted pair of black dress pants. He smiled as he leaned against his desk. “Hello, class.”

A few people gave weak hellos, but neither Arthur nor Merlin spoke.

“Welcome to Arthurian Studies!” He gave a grin, and the class seemed to melt and relax. “Now, my name is Mr. Anaszasi-nao, but I prefer it if you would just call me Aglain. I hope that we can all become very good friends and well versed in the legends of Camelot.”

Arthur glanced away in discomfort, mind flashing to what the dragon had said about how the tales had twisted, but forced himself to calm down. He slid one hand to Merlin's, drawing some sort of comfort from the touch. He rose his eyes again and found the teacher giving him a knowing smile, just like Freya in the hallway.

It unnerved him.

“Before we get into the stories of King Arthur, his knights, and so forth, we must touch on a few topics.” Here, Aglain gave an almost devious smile, and Arthur's eyebrows jumped up. “You see, this is a very unconventional class. But I promise you that this year, you will learn more than you ever have before.”


	4. In Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is really tired. He sleeps in legend, dreams only to be woken up for a couple of terrible police officers, and then has to stay up for an extra hour and a half. This is not to mention that his father is gong to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. So tired. I'm going to sleep after this (maybe). Enjoy.
> 
> Also, tons of research went into this, so if you find information that doesn't match, I NEED TO KNOW!!!! Thank you very much.

Faintly, Arthur wondered if anyone else felt the strange electricity in the air. There was something about Mr. Ana-Anzas-An-Aglain's introduction that made Arthur feel as though the man were sharing some life-altering secret (a bit like the dragon, but Arthur _wasn't going to think about him_ ). Then again, maybe everyone else was too busy sleeping to pay attention considering it was a day to go over course outlines, but this was one of the few classes in the school that was actually interesting, and with a glance around, he noted that more people were awake than in all his classes earlier that day combined.

It just seemed that Arthur was the only one who knew that something big was coming.

"You see," Aglain continued, "This class will be separated into two halves. The second half will go over the accepted legends and books while the first will be taking a more unorthodox path."

Here, Aglain paused until a boy in the front row raised his hand hesitantly (and once again, Arthur was sure that he should know who it was that sat before him, but he couldn't have placed the boy if he'd beaten him down with a sword). "What do you mean by unorthodox?"

Aglain smiled at the young man, leaning in a relaxed manner against his desk. Immediately, the boy and seemingly everyone else in the room (Arthur unfortunately included) felt a sense of comfort and ease wash over them. "Good question, Geraint." Arthur watched with sharp eyes as the redhead ducked at the praise lightly. "You see, it is another version of events concerning the Arthurian legends. Though much is the same, much is also different. However, we have discovered that it is old, old enough to be of the time period that the legends would have, if they were real, occurred. The book was saved, restored, and protected by the founder of Avalon High, and we are specifically required to teach half of the year on it." Aglain smiled again.

"What's different about it?" Questioned someone in the back that Arthur didn't turn around to catch a glimpse of (though it was extremely hard not to look at the person who had seated themselves in the one spot strategically located in Arthur's one worst blind spot).

"Another good question." He acknowledged. Aglain pursed his lips in thought. "As many of you know, the old legends, or as some historians debate, the history of the medieval times often vary on what and who Arthur was. The most widely accepted version is that Arthur was just a story, the firstborn and heir to King Uther's throne, but times were hard and Merlin suggested that they hide him away to keep him safe. As such, when Uther died, the kingdom became chaos and many contended for the throne. Merlin created a spell so that there was a sword in a stone that could only be pulled by one who was the rightful king. It's a general misunderstanding that this is Excalibur, but it was not. As king, Arthur had his knights of the round table, was a military leader who fought against the Saxon invasion-and won, might I add-and married Queen Guinevere who cheated on him with Sir Lancelot. They fought monsters, went on quests, and searched for the Holy Grail with Merlin's tutelage. Of course, things turned sour, and civil war broke out. Morgan le Fay is sometimes good and sometimes villainous, and her role cannot be completely accurate when determined, but her son Mordred did turn on Arthur, dealing him a killing blow at the battle of Camlan. Arthur floated down to the shores of Avalon where three maidens healed him, and he supposedly waits with his knights to this day to rise again."

Arthur shifted in discomfort, unsure. He felt his chest tightening as he considered the dragon's piercing gaze and the slight fear, the slight wonder of _what if'_ _s_ and _cou_ _ld it be's._ Arthur didn't even notice as his hands migrated across the table and took comfort in rubbing circles into Merlin's soft palms.

"However," Aglain continued in the silence, "the story in the first semester is much different. It tells the tale of a young man named Merlin who travels to Camelot where magic is illegal and punishable by death-"

Immediately, the calm, unsure classroom burst out in surprise. Arthur's eyes wandered the room, catching stiffening backs (people who should have been shocked but were really just afraid and silent), gasps, gapes, and outbursts. Arthur wondered how he would've reacted if this had been his first time hearing this. After all, the dragon-

The dragon-

_The dragon hadn't told him._

All of a sudden, he was afraid. Not for himself but for the blank girl beside him. Stiff and tightly (but not painfully) gripping her hands, he barely remembered that although it was illegal in Camelot, Camelot had fallen.

Arthur wondered if Merlin was there.

"That can't be!" Exclaimed a girl as she launched herself from her chair in disbelief, and Arthur's eyes darted to her. She was about his age with stringy but not unflattering, dark hair and piercing eyes. She wore a large brown jumper over a pair of black pants. Though most would call her pretty, when Arthur looked at her, all he could see were sharp edges and a thirst for revenge over some forgotten trespassing that hurt her soul and scared it with blood. She seemed to use her anger as a shield.

"Yes, Miss Collins?" Questioned Aglain.

The class quieted down, eyes drawn to the two opposing forces, and Arthur shifted protectively toward Merlin unaware of the war waging just in front of her. While Aglain was all stable calm, she was all burning ire.

"Sir," She began hesitating only slightly, "I know that can't be right. It would be hypocritical."

Aglain's lip twitched, and Arthur somehow felt the man was amused by something. "How so?"

"Well, Merlin, Sir." She replied, hands balling into fists at her sides as she fought her own flames for dominance. "If he was fighting with magic, then it wouldn't be right if he wasn't turned in and executed just the same as the rest. They can't fight magic with magic."

Aglain did indeed smile after she finished. He nodded. "Good. Excellent points, though I do admit that I doubt that any of them could have killed him. Merlin could probably have ruled the kingdom if he wished. As well as that, the best way to fight magic would be with magic." Aglain's eyes fell on Arthur, and it seemed as though the man could see right through him. A shiver ran up his cold spine. "You're right. The only way that the government could possibly not arrest Merlin while burning witches," (Arthur couldn't help but notice many shivers in the room, his not included), "is if Merlin didn't exist as we know him today."

The class murmured in confusion, some sounding confused and others curious.

"You see," Aglain continued with a smile, "Merlin wasn't an old man at the King's right hand nor was Arthur sent away for his own protection. They were both boys, and when Merlin saved Arthur's life, he became the prince's manservant."

A chill went down Arthur's back because that was what the dragon had said. _Your servant._

"After, he secretly saved Camelot many times with the help of Gaius the physician as well as the unwitting help of other friends such as Guinevere, Morgana, and Arthur himself. Of course, there are many twists in the story that I have not told you nor will I. We will read through the book over the next week or so." Aglain smiled at his class, most likely seeing the calm, curious gazes that were only available in his students. "After this, we'll be doing an assignment called subject study."

"Subject study?" Murmured Arthur under his breath, not expecting anyone to hear. However, Aglain's eyes fell on him. Despite his embarrassment, though, the man's gaze was kind and there was some solemnity in his expression that made Arthur wonder what he saw when he looked at him.

"Subject study is basically a study on specific topics of opinion or things that can't be proven. For instance, who's the writer of this story? They obviously contain intimate information from many parties that they shouldn't know as well as the fact that it isn't written as though someone is meant to read it. So from this information, I might say that this is the personal writings of Sir Percival meant for only his eyes. Then I would go through my book and find the points that support my theory. After this, you will each have to do a presentation of your choice, and then, we'll do debates." Aglain smiled at the many students before him. "And then we shall see how things go."

Arthur shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the knowing look that had bled into the man's eye. It felt as if everyone knew something he didn't these days.

Arthur's leg brushed Merlin's knee.

 

 

 

 

Handing Merlin back to Freya was one of the most painful things Arthur had ever forced himself to do (well, among them, anyway), but by the end of Latin, he was exhausted and ready to sleep, and the next bit of torture came in the form of a thought-a sword. His mind flashed to the sword next to the classroom, and he found himself wondering if it was _the_ sword in the stone, and if it was, he had to wonder if it was one of the objects that had Merlin's soul trapped.

Arthur shivered in the sunlight, glancing around as a new thought occurred to him. If there was time, he might be able to sneak up to the third floor and-

"Arthur!" Morgana bounded into his sight. Her hair fell around her in limp, messy curls, her skin was pale as moonlight, and Arthur could still see the remains of the last night's events, but she was still one of the most beautiful girls in the courtyard as students filed past to escape. Her smile was a bit dimmer than usual, but she did look genuinely happy to see him, so Arthur considered it a plus.

"Hey, Ana." Arthur greeted with a hopefully convincing smile.

Her eyebrows furrowed at him. "What's going on?"

 _I guess it wasn't very convincing._ He thought to himself, licking his lips a bit nervously. "I was just thinking about my Arthurian Studies class-"

"With Aglain?" Morgana asked, lighting up. "I have him, too. Same class."

"Then I'm going to guess that you've seen the sword in the stone outside his doorway." Arthur stated, shifting his backpack on his back.

She froze for a moment before coming to herself, covering up whatever emotion it was that hadn't quite fully crept onto her face before she caught it. Curiosity peaked, Arthur found himself staring at her both in worry and confusion. However, her gaze held no answers. Blue eyes sparkled at him. "Yes, I have seen it." She started walking.

Arthur frowned at her, nearly being left in the dust. He followed quickly enough, a bound in his step and his voice whiny as every younger sibling ought to sound at least once in their lifetime to validate their older sibling's complaints. "Where _are_ you going?" He demanded.

She sent a glance over her shoulder as he finally caught up, one slick eyebrow raised and a dangerous (worried, _scared_ ) look in her eyes. "I'm going to examine a sword."

They made quick work of getting there, quicker than Arthur expected. At the end of the hallway at the open door, they stood before the stone, examining the intricate, white designs on the rock, the engravings on the sword itself, and the way it glinted in the light. Arthur wasn't sure how long they stood there in silence, staring at it, but he wasn't the first to speak.

"What's bothering you?" Morgana spoke, and Arthur didn't have an answer.

Because, really, who would believe that there was a dragon beneath the school? Who would believe that Arthur was King Arthur or Merlin was the old sorcerer? (And there was a deeper reason, too, because Arthur was afraid, terrified of what would happen if he unloaded everything and have her not believe him-he wasn't _crazy-_ ) Arthur took a deep breath, looking at her closely.

But if there was anyone he could trust, he could trust Morgana.

Arthur swallowed, opening his mouth-

"Oh, hello." A voice said. Mr. And-Anz-Aglain walked out, and though he feigned surprise, neither Pendragon was fooled. He smiled at them pleasantly. "What brings you here?"

"Oh, well, I was just wondering about something." Morgana said, flushing and allowing her shoulders to come together just the slightest bit in a show of shyness. Her acting skills were incredible. If Arthur didn't know Morgana, he would've fallen for her act without a second thought. "This sword, here? Is it a replica of Excalibur or something?"

Aglain smiled indulgently, but for some reason, Arthur sensed a tenseness. Hidden behind kindness, it suddenly occurred to him that all three of them were on different sides. Arthur was lying to them (omitting the truth-same thing) to save Merlin, Aglain was humoring them and acting oblivious to Morgana's lies, but Arthur knew it was just pretense-he knew they were lying to him-and Morgana . . . . Morgana was always a special case. Right then, she was lying for Arthur, but why? Morgana didn't do anything without reason. Sometimes it was to help Arthur, but usually she got more out of her deals than what Arthur realized, and like sniffing out drugs, Arthur had gotten good at seeing when there was more to the story.

The problem was that he didn't know her story.

All three of them were on their own sides, and Arthur didn't know what that meant, what it was going to mean, or how things were going to play out. All he could do was focus on his side.

"Well, no, this sword is not a replica of Excalibur." Aglain stated simply, moving around them to stand by the rock, hands reverent as they just came out of reach of the sword as he spoke. "See, this is Galatine. According to the stories, it was the sister sword to Excalibur with similar abilities and strengths. The biggest difference would be that this sword was wielded by Sir Gwaine, not King Arthur."

"I see." Morgana replied, smiling in an almost fake way. Arthur wondered if she'd picked up on the fact that their teacher had caught on. "Well, thank you very much. I think that's all I wanted to know. Ready, Arthur?"

"Yeah." Arthur replied slowly, eyes rising to Aglain. Their gazes met heavily, and though one was serious and the other welcoming, both knew the other for what they truly were. "Yeah. I'll see you soon, Aglain."

"And you, Arthur, Morgana." He nodded at them both, watching until they disappeared down the staircase. Arthur felt the man's eyes heavy on his back.

But even without meeting Aglain, Arthur knew one thing.

That wasn't the sword. Not Excalibur, but it was Arthurian, real (he hadn't missed how Aglain had avoided calling it a fake Galatine), and it was something that Arthur needed to keep in mind. Though he doubted that Merlin's soul would attach itself to it, he knew he needed to keep an eye on it in case he was wrong.

No matter what Arthur believed, he had a job, and he couldn't quit with Merlin's life on the line.

 

 

 

 

Arthur didn't even manage to change out of his clothes before falling asleep. He very honestly felt as though there was nothing other than sleep that he could even do after the mind-numbing (heart-shattering) conversation at dinner with his father. All he had to do was close his eyes and . . . .

 _It was grabbing Merlin as he charged the mistake of-of a_ witchfinder _that Arthur felt it, and it clicked. It wasn't that he hadn't felt it before, but he'd never noticed it before, never considered what it meant. Dragging him out of the room with a few well-placed words, Arthur categorized it in his mind as unimportant while Gaius was-while Gaius was going to burn. Arthur was not cruel. He could wait for answers._

_It was when the witchfinder had found himself a witch as he fell from the tower that Arthur knew he wouldn't have to wait any longer._

_Arthur must have spend all night deciding how to confront Merlin, how to say what he needed to say, but in the end, it was his sleep-depraved mind that came up with what to say when his manservant (and what a_ joke _that turned out to be) entered surprisingly quietly with a tray loaded with a good breakfast (for once) in hand. Arthur liked to imagine it was a thank you for the day before._

_Merlin jumped when she turned around, seeing Arthur still in the last day's clothes and seated in a chair just before the door. The nice breakfast (that was still steaming, amazingly, and looked so good) spilled down Merlin's front as the servant gave a yelp of surprise and fell against the door clumsily._

_However, none of that threw Arthur off. In fact, it didn't faze him for one second._

_"So,_ Mer _lin, were you ever planning on telling me you're a_ girl _?"_

_For Merlin's reaction, Arthur found himself worried that he'd have to go collect the court physician from his sick bed._

Arthur jolted awake, mind numb as he focused on the loud ring of a phone. He blearily pulled it from his jeans, rubbing his eyes as he sat up in the dark room. He mumbled something blearily in greeting before he was jolted to full awareness.

It was Gwen. She was hysterical. She sounded heartbroken, sobs loud over the phone. He couldn't tell what she was saying at all, but he pretended he did and managed to say all the right things at the right times. "Gwen," He said in a lull of sobbing out incoherent words, "I'm going to come over. Will you be alright until then?"

"Yes." She sobbed before giving him an address.

Arthur heard her hang up and felt a bit guilty. Making sure Morgana was asleep and not about to sneak out, he grabbed his driving license, pulled on a jacket and a pair of shoes, and took the spare key. He was very quiet as he exited the house, turning off the alarm altogether to keep it from waking his father when he left and returned. He didn't want to let his father know that he'd left or taken the car (that, despite having a license, he wasn't allowed to drive).

It was a fancy thing, sleek with tinted windows and a blue and black paint job. It's seats were custom leather, and just the interior was worth an ordinary man's paycheck for over a year. With a killer rim job and clear polishing, it was a Bugatti Royale as well as Uther's pride and joy.

If things went well, the man would never know that Arthur had taken it.

Arthur was careful as he slid in, making sure there wasn't one scuff on the seat or a single scratch where his father might see. It seemed as though he didn't breathe until he was safely off the property and on his way to the address that Gwen gave him, using his phone for a GPS until he knew the area. After all, he hadn't lived there long enough to even finish unpacking.

Sometimes, he forgot how short he'd been a part of this new school, this new place.

Gwen's neighborhood (or at least, what he hoped was Gwen's neighborhood) was rundown and a bit crowded. The street had potholes galore (that made Arthur a little nervous about the car), and Arthur could see how no one was around. Other cars along the road were less than costly, some showing signs of crashes or break-ins. One apartment building at the beginning of the street as Arthur entered had boarded up windows. A part of Arthur wished that he got the wrong street. He was worried about Gwen living there.

But when he glanced up and saw a police car at one home at the end, Arthur knew that he had the right street. He pulled up to the curb (very carefully) and stepped out, locking up. Just as he was turning to the house (that he noticed he had the wrong numbers for-thank everything that he'd had the right street), a dark figure flung open the door and ran out. It hit him hard, hugging him and shaking.

Arthur looked down at it, seeing Gwen's shaken figure. She still wore a pink nightgown with a white sweater thrown over it, and Arthur realized that whatever had happened had woken her and not given her the chance to go change into something acceptable. Her eyes were red and bloodshot, skin clammy and cold where she touched him. She sniffled awfully, lips swollen from that nervous habit she had of biting them.

Arthur wrapped his arms around her, soothing her and brushing her hair to attempt to calm her. Soon (or at least sooner than Arthur had expected), Gwen's sobbing had become muffled sniffs, and Arthur led her to the house-what looked to be a small, white, one-story building with little room but was kept up with a flower box and a good paint job. He closed the door and glanced inside, noting that the front door led to a small hallway. The rooms along the hallway were closed and what he assumed were bedrooms or bathrooms. The next room was rather large but split with a wall with a large window to see through minus the glass. The first room was a kitchen with a kind, homely atmosphere. The other room was a large living room area with a television, coffee table, and a couch. It would have been very comfortable if not for the people inside it.

Two large, intimidating police officers stood in the middle, both glaring down at a figure on the couch. Arthur imagined him to be fifteen or sixteen, young, and very nervous despite his extremely good front. He had a black eye that was swelling rather badly, poorly kept clothing, and his hands were still cuffed behind his back. Arthur glanced back at Gwen, noting that she looked about ready to cry again at the sight, but she held herself together.

"I'm sorry." Gwen said, swallowing down the lump in her throat. She looked him in the eye, strong stance and tall shoulders. However, the tremor in her hands betrayed her. "I shouldn't have called you, but I need someone to help, and I can't-can't reach anyone. I'm sorry it's so late. You can-If you don't want to help, you can-"

"No, no." Arthur interrupted immediately, imagining another life where she was his queen. He could see why he would fall for her, even in tears and a nightgown. "I'm glad you called me. Tell me what happened."

Her eyes, grateful and exhausted, glittered up at him. "Thank you." She swallowed, eyes trailing to the officers before snapping back to Arthur again, blinking away blurriness. "I didn't tell you, but I have a little brother, Elyan. He, uh, ran away a long time ago, after my mother died." She swallowed again, and it was the perfect place to tell her he was sorry, but Arthur could see in her stance that she didn't want those old memories to be dug up from the grave. He was silent. "My father and I haven't seen him in years. Da's been working night and day for a long time, and I have a part-time job as well, but I don't work nights. About an hour ago, they came with him in cuffs saying that they caught him breaking into a-a store. They were going to take Elyan to lock-up, but they wanted to speak to my father. Since he's not here, they want me to call him home to speak to him, but Da is on probation at work. If he leaves early again, he'll lose his job." Gwen took a shaking breath. "We can't afford it, and we can't let him go into lock-up for the night, and I don't know what to do!" She sobbed again before pulling herself together. "And what if they press charges? We don't have the money for that! Oh, Arthur!" She sniffed, hugging herself tightly, and Arthur took it as cue.

"It's okay." He said, pulling her into a hug. She shook in his grasp again before pulling herself together. She took a deep breath in his arms before pulling away to look him in the eyes. "I promise you," He said, "that I'm going to fix this."

They walked into the living room, and Arthur stood tall, glad he'd fallen asleep in something acceptable. Immediately, the officers took him in and seemed to recognize him as some kind of figure of authority. Arthur was glad for once that he looked older than he really was. "Officers, what's this about?"

One of the officers took the lead, stepping forward. "I'm Officer Rogers, and this is my partner Officer Jameson." Arthur nodded his understanding. "We responded to a nine-nine-nine call of some suspicious figures breaking and entering into one of the chain stores from a nearby neighbor. We confronted them before they managed to and found four boys. We were unable to catch the rest of the bloody blighters, but we caught him. Normally, we would take them in first, but we were told that he was one of the missing kids by another of the guys and to take him home. However, what he did can't be left alone. He needs to face the consequences of his actions. He will need to face charges." Officer Rogers said, seemingly trying to convince Arthur that he was doing the right thing.

Arthur wondered why the officer was trying to convince him that he was doing the right thing. From looking at Gwen, he could tell that they hadn't been nearly as careful or respectful with her, so he could rule out age as the reason. It couldn't be the way he carried himself, either, because Gwen was just as authoritative and confident as he, and she didn't cry easily.

Then, the one biggest difference between Gwen and her brother and he and the officers occurred to him.

Arthur took a slight breath, knowing that if he managed to play his cards right, he could resolve all of this without Gwen losing anything. For once in his life, he was extremely thankful for his father putting so much pressure on him to go into the family business.

"So you're telling me," Arthur began, letting his voice become dangerous, "that you failed to catch three boys failing to break into a store, managed by some stroke of luck rather than skill to catch one obviously much more violently than need be, decided to charge him before he could even cause property damage because you felt he deserved to be punished for your own pride, and then told someone else the situation without considering the fact that the family present didn't give you permission to tell an outside party?"

Both officers looked stunned. "We-We assumed that you had permission-The woman let you in-"

"Tell me, Gwen, did you give either of these officers permission to share private information about your brother's alleged crime?" Arthur asked.

Even she looked surprised, but she shook her head dutifully. "No, I didn't."

"I see. In fact, you could get reprimanded for that." Arthur told the officers. Though Officer Rogers still looked stunned, Officer Jameson began to turn red in indignation. _Good._ Arthur thought.

"You asked us-" He began angrily, but Arthur interrupted.

"So do reporters, but are you supposed to give them information from an on-going investigation?" They both looked cowed, so Arthur continued with a hard edge in his tone that he knew business men needed in his father's work. "As well as that, who are you to decide what punishment the boy here needs? Do you clothe him, love him, or protect him? Do you even know his name?" Neither officer spoke. "No. You don't." Arthur continued. "As such, it is not up to you to decide what punishment he deserves or what he needs. In fact, I'm beginning to even doubt that he was attempting to break in."

Both officers looked rather angry at the accusation that they were incompetent at their jobs, and Arthur could see it rising with the blood in their faces. Emotion was good at clouding judgement, and Arthur was good at bringing it out, even if he wasn't quite as good as Morgana. Officer Jameson looked about ready to throttle him, stepping forward and towering angrily. Despite having at least a head over Arthur, Arthur didn't look up at him or let any intimidation show. He looked at Officer Rogers instead as he was closer in height, completely ignoring the officer threatening him. "We caught them attempting to pick the lock-"

"Really?" Arthur inserted. "You actually saw one of the four attempting to pick the lock?"

Officer Jameson stumbled. "Well-Well, no, but-"

"Ah, so you have no proof or solid evidence." Arthur said, raising a condescending eyebrow. "So, Elyan, tell me. Were you trying to break in as these two _upstanding_ officers of the law seem to believe you were?"

Elyan looked surprised at being addressed (maybe at the whole situation, but Arthur didn't have time to think about how sad it was that Elyan was surprised someone was helping him), but he answered just as calmly as Arthur had hoped. "No."

"Were you helping someone else break in?" Arthur asked.

"No." Elyan repeated, eyes still looking a bit shocked.

"Are you hiding a lock set on your person right now?" Arthur continued.

"No." Elyan repeated once again, faithfully.

"Did these officers tell you what you were even being arrested for? Did they have any evidence or right?" Arthur asked, making sure his tone was as condescending as possible. Thankfully, Elyan didn't have to answer.

"We have a witness." Stated Rogers exclaimed before a look of worry beginning to enter his look of anger. Arthur knew he would have to push this quickly lest they manage to realize what he was doing.

"Right. So it would be your witness's word against _Elyan's_." Arthur stated, smiling at the officers. "I think it's important that in a court of law, their word is equal, and there's little chance that someone just happened to see a lock being picked from some house window. It'd be too far away to tell. Considering this, I'd say that Elyan's word has much more weight than-"

"Yeah, well, she's white!" Snapped Officer Jameson so angrily that his words came out in a shout. Both Elyan and Gwen looked surprised, and horror began to show on the officer's faces as realization set in, but Arthur felt a sick sort of satisfaction. He hated racism, but he supposed that it would be useful in this moment.

"I see." Arthur said, face straight and not giving away anything as silence fell over the room for a beat. He hoped that the officers realized what trouble they were in. "Would you like to know how many laws you've broken just now? For one, the Race Relations Act outlaws public discrimination. The Human Rights Act made organizations subject to the European Convention on Human Rights. In fact, there was an act that came into law at the turn of the twenty-first century called the Race Relations Act that extended the public sector to the police force, requiring that you as _decent_ police officers are required to enforce and promote equality."

The officers had both become pale, so pale they looked sick. Arthur allowed a dark smile on his face, feeling how it didn't fit comfortably. However, he was willing to do it for Gwen and her baby brother. He supposed that he might do anything for his friends. "This could become a national incident. I can imagine the papers now, and they all say the same thing. _Racist._ " They looked even paler at the thought. "You arrested this boy on the charge that he's black? You could lose your jobs for that. In fact, you should. I could go up to your boss or your boss's boss and demand your immediate removal for violating Elyan's rights like that and threatening his family, especially so violently."

"You wouldn't." Officer Rogers managed to say, looking (and sounding) shaken, attempting to call a bluff. "You don't have that kind of pull."

"You think I don't?" Arthur challenged him, narrowing his eyes. For a moment, he felt chilled at how alike his father he was, but he pushed it away. He needed to be focused. "Do you know who I am?" Both looked at each other, and Arthur felt as though he could laugh. "You gave information to me without even knowing who I am? Upstanding work. I'm Arthur Pendragon of Pendragon Industries. I have the pull, the resources, and the lawyers to take you down, and the first thing I would do is make sure you lose your jobs and never get another law enforcement badge again."

Arthur let that hang, waiting until all the possibilities had run through the officer's minds. A part of him wanted to hear them beg, but his decency managed to win out. "Gwen?" He asked.

She looked startled, eyes wide as she looked at him. "Yes?" She asked, seeming unsure.

"Would you want them to lose their jobs despite the fact that they have put your own father's job at risk?" He asked, watching as fear and pleading entered their gazes, but they remained silent. The big, white men silenced by a little, black girl. Arthur let a hint of anger touch his expression before it was gone again.

"No, I wouldn't." Gwen replied softly, a sad note in her voice.

"You should thank her." Arthur stated, looking at both officers coldly. "She just saved your careers. Now, you're going to drop the charges against Elyan, not inform the department store considering the fact that they were not broken into, and you're never, ever going to dare judge someone or decide their fate based on the color of their skin, and if you dare to try, I won't hesitate. Now get those handcuffs off of him, and get out."

Arthur had never seen police officers escape so fast.

There was a short silence after the display, and Arthur found himself crumbling a little, shifting his gaze to the floor. What he'd done might have helped Elyan, but it was a risk, too. What if she began to think of him as strange or dangerous? His influence could be thought of as potentially damaging to her and her friends, and he'd displayed a certain ruthlessness that his father had managed to instill in him despite how much Arthur wished he hadn't. Of course, that was only one case. What if some of them began to suck up to him? Though he couldn't imagine it, the very idea sent a shiver down his frame. He didn't want to be turned into that. It was degrading for him to consider himself as just someone's way to the top, a moneybag-

Arthur's eyes nearly bugged out of his head as she squeezed him around the waist, shaking but not afraid of him. "Thank you so much! I-I thought-I was so scared, but you saved Elyan, and I can't thank you enough!"

Arthur felt himself relax. He felt idiotic for even doubting her or the rest of their friends. Slowly, she released him. "Oh, it was nothing, Gwen-"

"It was not nothing!" Gwen snapped angrily before her eyes watered again. "You just saved us, and that's not nothing."

"Okay." Arthur managed uncomfortably before smiling at her. He tried to hide a yawn. "Sorry." He apologized. "It's a bit late."

"Right. Sorry about the time." Gwen flushed, moving to walk him out, Elyan acting as her shadow. He moved very silently for one so young. "Here, I'll walk you out. Thanks so much again, Arthur." They opened the door, walking into the night and toward his car. "If you ever need anything, just say the word. I promise I'll be there."

They paused at Arthur's car, and Arthur's heart dropped. "Actually, I might have to take you up on that."

Gwen looked at the car and gasped.

Uther's pride and joy had four slit wheels and shattered glass littering the seats where the windshield now sat in pieces.

Gwen took him back in nervously, chattering as her eyes scanned the area for whomever might cost Arthur his life. "I'm sorry, Arthur. It's an expensive car, the Bugatti Royale, isn't it? Don't worry about the damages or heading home tonight. You can stay here, and my dad's a mechanic. He'll fix it free of charge, I promise you. No Pendragon will ever have to pay for work done on their cars again. Really, Arthur."

Arthur smiled at her despite the growing pit in his stomach. "Thanks, Gwen."

She sat him on the sofa with Elyan, tutting like a mother hen. "Now, I'm going to get you two some hot cocoa, and we'll work out everything. It's nearly four. There's no point going back to sleep now." She turned and wandered into the kitchen, humming softly as she pulled out a small pot, some milk, sugar, and chocolate. Once she seemed thoroughly focused on her task, Arthur turned to Elyan.

The young boy (or maybe not so young-he was at least Mordred's age, but Mordred seemed young, too) gave him a soft look. "Thank you."

Arthur looked at him warmly but sternly. "Don't do it again."

"I won't." The boy replied, eyes not shifting from Arthur for a moment. "I promise."

Arthur wouldn't admit it, but he felt a line of trust form between them that rivaled that which bound Arthur to his sister.


End file.
